


Running Deep

by MorganLeBae



Category: Saints Row
Genre: AU, Gen, The Boss never joined the Saints AU, not Gat Out Of Hell compliant, tw: gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 15:46:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3214697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganLeBae/pseuds/MorganLeBae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell is what you make of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running Deep

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This was originally meant to be just backstory to another fic I was writing, involving an AU where the Boss (my Boss) never joined the Saints but ended up working for Dane Vogel instead. That fic got a little convoluted and I'm not sure I'll ever finish it, but I really liked the backstory I'd come up with, so I decided to write this as a standalone piece.
> 
> The idea for this fic came before I'd even heard of Gat Out Of Hell. The summary and motivation to finish it came afterwards.
> 
> Spoilers throughout the first game, but I never actually played it - no Xbox - so apologies if anything's wrong, I did my best. More based off Saints Row 2, but you never actually get that far in the fic. Also I don't know anything about business or weaponry or fight scenes, so if I'm very wrong about any of those I apologise.
> 
> (ETA: Tracklist added, see end notes)

1.

It was a beautiful day, and he was going for a swim, as usual. Normally he just used the pool in his apartment block, but at weekends he liked to go down to the beach and get out in the open water. He’d found a great little cove a few months back – it was big, it was clean, and it was usually completely empty.

 _Usually._ Today there was someone in dark clothing and a blue cap hunched up against the rocks. They shifted when he looked over at them, hunching up. Probably a transient. He sighed. This was the downside of coming out to swim. He left most of his cash at home. He’d just have to do without the wallet if he needed to.

He stripped down to his trunks and waded in. There was a current today, which was nice. Something to brace against. He started doing his usual lengths of the beach.

He heard the engine just in time to look around and see the jet ski whizz by him, just missing his head by a hair’s breadth. Then all he could see or feel was water, as the wake of it flipped him around and dragged him down.

By the time he stopped spinning, he was completely disoriented. His limbs felt like lead. He kicked, trying to right himself. The current pushed against him. He realised he didn’t know which way was up – couldn’t get his body parts to move in tandem with each other. There was water in his mouth, he could taste salt at the back of his throat. The current was moving his hair, but he didn’t know which way _he_ needed to move. He kicked harder. He still couldn’t tell where the surface was. His lungs started burning, fighting for air that wasn’t there. He kicked again, and just thought he could see sunlight sparkling above him as he finally had to open his mouth, and then everything was wet, and then everything started to go white…

And then he was coughing, coughing and coughing and coughing. He felt like he was going to cough his throat up. He pulled in a ragged breath and it was air, nothing but air. He fell back and let it fill his lungs, over and over again.

He could see light, and hazy shapes coming through it. Blue. The blue was bobbing about, making him feel dizzy. He closed his eyes again. He could feel something warm on his shoulder. And grit under his neck and back.

Sand. He was lying on sand. The sun was blazing into his eyes. He put up a hand to shield against it – a hand that was feeling increasingly shaky. There was someone leaning over him. The warm thing from his shoulder disappeared. He could make out eyes, and blue. A hand suddenly ran through it, and he realised it was hair. It was a girl, with green eyes, staring down at him.

“I’m gonna go for help, okay?” Her voice was pounding and distorted. Then she was gone. There was a slight spray of sand over him.

He let his hand fall back to his side. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him. He swallowed again, and tasted salt.

Goddamn it.

By the time the girl got back he’d managed to sit up. She flopped back down next to him, and stared worriedly at him. He did a small double-take when he noticed the great scar on her cheek. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything.

“Are you alright?” she asked. Her accent was harsh, but her voice was uncertain.

He nodded, and swallowed against the burning in his throat.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. It was dripping wet.

“Paramedics will be here in about ten minutes.”

 _Damn_ it. He was gonna have to go to the hospital, and fill in a bunch of forms. That was the day gone. He could probably still make the company bowling night, though.

He looked back at the girl. She was still staring at him, in an odd mixture of worry and awe. It was hard to tell her age past the insanely coloured hair and distracting scar, but he’d put at somewhere in the teenage years.

She’d saved him.

He was lucky she was there, he supposed. He looked down at her, at her white vest and tattooed arms. He could see her bra through the wet vest. She was still just staring at him.

Clothes. Where were _his_ clothes? He looked around, and saw the folded pile down the beach, and his towel.

“Could you get me my clothes?” he asked. “Please.” His voice was scratchy, and he coughed again.

She sprang up, and jogged around him. She grabbed the clothes roughly, and came back and handed them to him. Then she stepped round him and wandered the other way down the beach. He watched her as she walked around a little bit, and then picked up a dark pile of her own, and then a shoe, and then another from by the waterline.

He dried himself off with his towel. He wasn’t injured, as far as he could see. His arms were starting to shake though. He put the towel down and ignored the rest of his clothes. He could still taste saltwater when he swallowed. He spat.

The girl came back, up close to him, and started putting on a dark, ragged hoodie, what the dark pile had turned out to be. He offered her his towel, which was still partly dry, but she waved it off. She sat back down and put her trainers on. They also looked like they’d seen better days. He wondered if she really was a transient. She kept looking up at him, eyeing him like he was going to disappear. She sat back and studied him, up and down. Then she looked like she was sort of in awe again.

He was grateful, really, but he sincerely hoped this wasn’t going to turn into another teenage crush. The least he could do was be polite about it, he supposed.

There was a noise from behind them, and her head whipped around, fists balling. He looked himself, and it was the paramedics, picking their way down the rocky path. When he looked back, her fists had unclenched.

When the medics arrived, she stood up and stood back, watching, fists clenched again. He realised he’d never asked her name. But he was busy with the paramedics now. They gave him a basic check-over, even though he insisted he was fine, that this great girl – he gestured to her and she stared stonily at him – had helped him. They had to help him to his feet, to his chagrin, and insisted he come to the hospital for a proper check-up. He agreed, begrudgingly.

One of the paramedics turned to the girl, still wet, and asked if she needed to be checked over too. She shook her head, defensively, stepping back. No insurance, probably. She gave him one last hard look – that turned a little soft towards the end – and then turned and walked off up the beach, hands jammed in her pockets. By the time he and the paramedics reached the top of the path, there was no sign of her.

 

2.

It was a month later when he saw her again. He was back at the cove, going for another swim, and as he reached the sand he looked around and saw that same dark shape topped off with blue. She hunched up a little when he looked at her – and then sat up. She paused for a second, uncertainly. Then gave a half-wave.

Damn it. If he was going to see her again, this was going to get awkward. And he hated leaving a debt unpaid. He hesitated for a moment, and then walked over to her.

She tensed up as he walked over to her, but didn’t stand. She had her fists clenched again by the time he got over to her. The scar was somehow bigger _and_ smaller than he remembered.

“Hi,” he said. She just stared at him. “I never properly thanked you for saving my life. So - thank you.”

She shrugged, uneasily. Looked him cautiously up and down.

“It’s alright,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do? To thank you?”

She frowned, very slightly.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

Hmm. He looked around the beach, thinking.

“How about this – I’ll buy you lunch,” he offered. “It’s the least I can do.”

She still looked uneasy, and sort of annoyed. She studied his face for a moment. Then she shrugged, looking off to one side.

“Alright.”

“Are you free now?” he asked. “After I swim?”

She looked past him at the water.

“You’re going back in?” she asked, a little incredulously.

He’d been back in the following week.

He nodded. She stared at him, then quirked a little smile.

“You’re brave,” she said.

“Thanks. So – are you free? Now?”

She seemed to debate it for a minute, then nodded.

“Great,” he said. “Wait till I’m finished and we’ll go.”

He turned and walked a little way down the beach.

“I’ll keep an eye on you,” she called after him.

Ha ha ha.

He had the uncomfortable experience of stripping off while she was still behind him. He forced himself not to look back. He didn’t look back while he waded out into the water, or when he started his lengths. He did glance back at the beach during a short pause though, shaking the hair out of his eyes. She seemed to be leaned forward, arms around her knees. Watching him.

He finished his lengths – no problems this time – and came back out. He dried himself off and got dressed again. He walked over to her and she stood up, jamming her hands into her hoodie pocket.

She stared at him, a little warily, past the hair and the scar. He realised he _still_ didn’t know her name.

“I never introduced myself,” he said. “I’m sorry – it’s Dane. Dane Vogel.”

He held out a hand for her to shake, and she stared at it, like it was potential weapon. She looked back up at him. He remained unthreatening. After a moment, she took one of her hands out of the pocket and shook it, cautiously.

“Darcy,” she said. She let go of his hand immediately and put her own back in her pocket.

“Great!” he said. “Where d’you want to go?”

~ ~ ~

Freckle Bitches, was where she wanted to go. He forced himself not to cringe. It’s not like he’d never been before – he took plenty of young athletes during his days as a sports agent, trying to hash out contracts. He’d just hoped those days were over.

At least the money he’d brought out with him would probably cover it. He’d rather not go back to his apartment and have her see where he lived.

She led him to one just a few blocks over. As they went in, he caught her smiling at him slightly. Like she was enjoying his discomfort.

He put on his biggest, brightest smile for the greeter. She looked a little dazed.

“Table for two, please,” he said.

She led them over to a booth, nearly dropping the menus as she did. Take took a seat, throwing his towel down beside him, and looked up to see Darcy grinning slightly at him again.

He was glad this was very amusing for her.

He could see her eyeing him from over her menu as he looked over his. Clearly waiting for him to crack. He didn’t give her the satisfaction. Just calmly picked out a salad and put the menu down.

She turned back to her own menu, fully, and he took the time to study her. The scar on her cheek was shiny, probably a few years old. Her dye job was patchy and harsh. There was dirt under some of her fingernails. But he still remembered muscles, on her arms, when she’d sat there in her vest. She didn’t look like she was starving.

She threw down her menu, and looked up at him, a little challengingly. Still smirking. Yes, this was an awkward situation and he was slumming it. He had faith that they could get through it, together.

She gave him another one of those little up-and-down glances he didn’t quite understand. It wasn’t like how people looked when they were attracted to him. Or when they thought they could take him for a small fortune. He didn’t understand it. It irked him.

The waitress came back as soon as they put their menus down, and he ordered his salad and orange juice. Darcy might not have been starving, but she ordered enough to feed a horse – a burger he didn’t want to think about, and a couple of sides. He wondered if she was trying to bleed him, or if she was just stocking up while she had a free lunch. Maybe this was just her usual meal. The waitress took the menus, and then they were alone together.

She was still looking at him a little challengingly. Hands still in her pockets. He struck up a conversation, because that’s what he was good at. It turned out she wasn’t homeless, she was a student at the nearby – ‘college’. He wouldn’t have thought she could afford it. She was studying mechanical engineering, apparently, in her second year. He figured he was right about her being a teenager – he put her at about 19. Ten years younger than him.

She’d lived in the city her whole life, grown up in Saints Row. She watched him a little carefully while she said that. He didn’t know what she was waiting for. All the neighbourhoods South of the river were the same to him.

She looked at him blankly when he mentioned Ultor. He explained it was a clothing store, and got a vague spark of recognition. He couldn’t exactly blame her –Ultor was sitting pretty squarely in the middle of the market. Not affordable enough for just anyone to shop there, not fancy enough to be instantly recognisable. It was a good position to grow a business from, though. He was hoping to be a high street staple within three years.

He glanced down at her hoodie, as they were discussing it, and suddenly realised that it wasn’t actually all black, it had a faded logo on it. He squinted, and realised it was the Stilwater Sharks.

“Hey, are you a fan of the Sharks?” he asked. She just looked at him, then down at the hoodie. “I could get you tickets, if you want – I used to be a sports agent.”

The smile suddenly dropped from her face.

“I don’t _need_ anything from you,” she said. Hissed.

He stared at her.

“I get them for free,” he said. He held her gaze. “It wouldn’t be some big favour – it’d be a phone call. You did save my life after all.”

She frowned at him, and then huffed and stared moodily at the window. Dane had to fight the sudden urge to laugh.

Their food arrived, which broke the tension. His orange juice was as bad as he remembered. He should have gone with tap water – can’t get that wrong. The salad looked oily – Freckle Bitches’ dressings left a lot to be desired, as usual – but he picked at it. Darcy dug into her burger with abandon.

Eventually the conversation got going again. He asked her about her family. She looked a little cagey about that, but said her dad lived in the city, and her mom worked out of it. She had an uncle and a cousin, also in the city. No-one else, from what he could tell.

She looked up at him testily.

“ _You?_ ”

He smiled, and told her the truth. His parents lived in California. No siblings, one aunt, no cousins.

It wasn’t often he had casual conversations with the less fortunate, and she surprised him. She didn’t seem to be hedging her answers in any way, or ashamed of her background, even when he talked about his. She didn’t seem envious either – she didn’t even seem impressed. She wasn’t intimidated by him – which was odd, because he couldn’t even name a lot of his co-workers that weren’t that. And then sometimes he’d catch her looking at him with this sort of – _fondness_. A surprisingly genuine warmth, and the slightly patronising expression adults tended to have on their faces when they listened to a child describe their day at school. He should have been annoyed by it – was, a little – but was mostly too confused for that. And every now and again, those little flickering up-and-down glances. Then she’d go right back to looking smirking, or looking unimpressed.

He prided himself on being able to read people. He’d studied body language and tone of voice for years. But he couldn’t get a read on her. It irked him.

She asked about his job in that everyman sort of way (“so what do you actually _do?_ ”), and he tried to explain without making it too complicated, or giving away any actual details. She looked at him blankly through a lot of it, but certain concepts – like increasing market share and asset-stripping – seemed to click, and made her grin.

He asked about her course, and she said something about ‘liking cars’. He pressed her a little, and she turned out to know a hell of a lot about engines. It was actually quite impressive, although she didn’t look impressed. She even understood some basic things about construction. He asked her what job she wanted when she was done. She just looked at him.

He realised, as the meal was coming to an end, that he’d been waiting for her to ingratiate herself, or hint that she wanted cash. But she hadn’t. At all. She didn’t even want the goddamned Sharks tickets he was offering her.

He called for the check, and paid it. The waitress was still blushing. Darcy smirked at him. They got up and left, and she glanced around the street like she was already waiting for permission to go.

He studied her for a second, then made a decision.

“Give me your phone,” he said.

Her head whipped back round to his and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Why?” she asked.

He held out his hand, gently – no sudden moves. She stared at it.

“Just give me your phone, please. I’m not gonna steal it.”

She stared at him suspiciously for another moment, but then awkwardly shifted. She took out her phone, doubtfully. He reached out and took it.

He tucked his towel under one arm and opened her phonebook. He put in his number, under ‘Dane’. He gave himself a missed call and felt his phone buzz in his pocket – he’d assign ‘Darcy’ to the number later.

“That is my number,” he said, handing her phone back to her. “If you change your mind about those Sharks tickets, just give me a call. Honestly – it’s no trouble at all.”

She frowned down at her phone, then up at him. And then put it back in her pocket.

“Goodbye, Darcy,” he said. Turning slightly to leave.

She gave him another one of those up-and-down looks. And then stared right in his eyes.

“Goodbye, Dane,” she said. And then turned, uncertainly, and started walking down the street. She didn’t look back.

 

3.

He honestly didn’t think he’d hear from her again. When he was checking his phone two months later, and saw a missed call from ‘Darcy’, he had to take a moment to remember who it was.

He called her back in his office.

“Hey,” she said, sounding vague.

“Darcy?”

“Yeah.”

“You after those Sharks tickets?” He sincerely _hoped_ she was.

“You get them for free, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yeah. Could you hook me up?”

Only a matter of time then. He pulled a pad of paper over towards himself.

“Sure,” he said. “When?”

“This Saturday?”

Well, that was a stretch, but it was doable.

“Sure,” he said. “Do you care where you sit?”

“Not at the back.”

Obviously.

“How about middle row, on the right?”

“Sure.”

“Great. What’s your address?”

A pause.

“Darcy?” he asked.

“Can I pick’em up?”

“You don’t have an address?”

“I have a dorm room, but I’m not there much. I don’t trust my roommates with my mail. If I can’t pick them up it’s alright, it doesn’t matter.”

He tapped his pen on the pad. He hated awkward deals.

“How about this –” he said, “– I’ll meet you somewhere and hand them over?”

Another pause.

“It won’t be too much trouble?”

“It won’t be any trouble at all. It’ll have to be late though.”

“Okay. When?”

“I should have them by Thursday, so say Thursday? At nine?”

“Sure. Where?”

“Where do _you_ want to meet?” He wasn’t meeting her at any of his usual places.

She sucked in a breath.

“Freckle Bitches?”

Naturally.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Great,” he said. “I’ll see you then. Call me if you need to change the time or something.”

“Yeah,” she said. There was a rustling, and then she paused awkwardly. “Thanks.”

She hung up the phone.

Well. He did give her his number. He picked up his office phone, and punched in the number for the stadium.

~ ~ ~

On Thursday at 8.55 he pulled into the parking lot. She wasn’t there – she must be inside. He got out and clapped his hands together. It was getting colder again. He hoped she wasn’t expecting another meal.

He entered the restaurant and saw an unmistakeable shock of blue in one of the booths. He walked over, to see her nursing a half-empty glass of cola. She smiled as she saw him approach. The scar glistened in the fluorescent lights.

“Two Sharks tickets,” he said, pulling the envelope out of his coat pocket and slapping it lightly down on the table. “Block 8, middle row, aisle seats.”

She pulled the envelope over and checked the contents, before putting it back down on the table. Clever girl.

He paused.

“I’m going to that game, actually,” he said. “I’ll be with a client though, so I won’t be able to talk to you.”

She looked up at him, a little bug-eyed, like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“What?” he asked.

“Um,” she said. “Well – I was gonna scalp’em.”

He blinked at her.

“I mean, you said you got them for free, I didn’t think it’d be a problem.”

He stared at her for a minute. And then laughed.

Well. He couldn’t fault her entrepreneurial spirit.

“No,” he said. “No. That’s not a problem. Just, uh – just try not to sell them to any hooligans, or neo-Nazis. That stuff gets back to me.”

She gave him a mock-offended look, and then smiled, and put the envelope away in her hoodie pocket.

He tapped his fingers on the table. Looked around the restaurant. And then sat down in the booth, opposite her.

“How’s the course?” he asked.

“It’s alright,” she replied, smiling. It dropped for a minute, and she gestured the tickets in her hoodie.

“You want a cut?” she asked, genuinely.

“No.” He waved her off. “I’d scalp them myself if was that interested. You keep it.”

Another grin. She looked down at his empty hands on the table.

“You want a drink or something?” Her face went a little hard. “I’m buying.”

“No thank you.”

“You sure? Coffee or something?”

The memory of Freckle Bitches coffee literally made him wince.

“No,” he said. “No caffeine after noon.”

She frowned at him for a second, as if waiting for the punch line. It didn’t come. She looked away.

She was wearing that same black hoodie, unless she had a series of them. No gloves. It was cold out tonight.

“You going anywhere after this?”

“Party, maybe.” She shrugged. She looked him over, and her eyes suddenly narrowed.

“You working late?” she asked, glancing at his suit.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Not to meet me?”

“No,” he said. “I work late most nights.”

She frowned.

“ _Why?_ ”

He shrugged.

“To get things done.”

She still looked dubious.

“Like what?”

“Paperwork.”

She stared at him for a second. And then laughed, a little, looking away.

He glanced out the window. His car was on the other side of the parking lot. If he’d known he’d be staying for a bit, he’d have parked closer.

“Don’t worry,” she said.

“What?” he asked. She had a sly smile on her face.

“No-one’s gonna take it,” she said. “Not out here.” He paused. Waited for her to continue. “It’s too lit up, and the police come by too regularly.”

“You saw me come in?”

“Yeah. Not many Socialites in this neighbourhood. 2001 model?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice,” she said. Then shrugged. “A little basic.”

“It’s a company car,” he said. “There’s not much I can do with it.” Not that he would.

She smirked at him.

“You getting your grades?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“What are you working on now?”

“Materials.”

They got onto talking about the other students at the university. Darcy didn’t seem terribly involved in student culture, but she knew what the other kids were into. It was like free market research. He got the feeling she knew what he was doing, but she just smiled at him, and kept answering questions. Gave him one of those up-and-down looks again.

They were there for about an hour. Then he really needed to go – had to be up for work the next day. Darcy handed a crumpled set of bills to the waitress as they passed the till, from right out of her pocket.

“You should get a wallet,” Dane suggested.

“Then people know what to steal.”

Cold hit him as he stepped out into the parking lot. Darcy didn’t seem to notice it.

“How you getting home?”

“Train,” she replied, shrugging.

He paused.

“Is that safe?”

Not that he really cared. He assumed she knew what she was doing.

She gave him a grin.

“ _I’ll_ be safe,” she said.

He looked at her for another moment. Then smiled.

“Get a good price for those tickets,” he said.

“I don’t take bad ones,” she replied, turning away.

He smiled as he walked back to his car.

~ ~ ~

That Saturday, at the game, he looked over at the seats he’d gotten her. Two young women were sat there, looking around, star-struck. He smiled.

 

4.

She called him the next month for more tickets, and he didn’t mind. She’d saved his life after all. And somehow it became a regular thing. They’d meet up, at the same Freckle Bitches just to keep things simple, and he’d hand over some tickets and they’d talk. Eventually he suggested they have lunch again, just so he wouldn’t be planning it around his late nights. He considered trying to change the restaurant, but then he imagined taking her somewhere he actually _liked_ eating. Somewhere people might see him. Between that and her scornful looks, he decided to leave it as it was. sometimes, but between her scornful looks when he mentioned anywhere more

They talked about her course, and his job. It was kind of nice, actually, discussing things with someone who wasn’t probably after his job. She gave him a few more tips on parking his car. It wouldn’t get stolen somewhere like Saints Row, apparently, because a Socialite would be too noticeable to drive around in. He’d lose most of the parts pretty quickly though. Somewhere like the University campus, it’d probably get taken for a joyride as soon as someone drunk enough came along – he’d get back pieces of it, if not the whole thing. The worst place was apparently Downtown, after dark. There it’d just be gone completely.

They talked about what she was learning – she had a real grasp of mechanics – and about new cars coming out. Dane didn’t care, but Darcy knew what she was talking about, and there were always car people around Dane might want to impress.

And then there was the day he accidentally locked his keys in his car, after a _very_ busy week at work. He was standing there, kicking himself and trying to figure out what to do. Darcy looked at him, then around the street, and then bent over the door. She got it open in a couple of seconds. He looked at her. She looked back, smiling slightly. He revised some of his ideas about ‘Mechanical Engineering’.

They talked about the Sharks, who Darcy followed on TV even though she never went to a game. She didn’t have much head for strategy, but she seemed to enjoy the raw aggression well enough. It reminded Dane of his days as an agent. People were always so happy to be enthusiastic about sports.

When it became clear she didn’t care at all about the world of high finance, or largely understand it, Dane shared a little more about what he did at Ultor. He asked her not to tell anyone else, and she gave him a genuinely offended look. Still. She _did_ seem to like hearing about him screwing people over.

She told him about fights or arguments she was having with people, what she was gonna do if they kept stepping up to her. That was kind of fun too.

The continued free market research was also nice. She always smiled at him a little when he was doing it. He asked her once if she minded, and she shrugged and said “the customer is always right, right?”.

She said if he ever wanted her face on a line of t-shirts, to just let her know.

They met up throughout the next summer. She apparently stayed on campus, and made some very vague references to ‘work’ she was doing to pay for it.

The third year of her course began, and he got a surprise one day when she came in wearing a letterman jacket, black and gold, rather than the old Sharks hoodie. He asked her what her sport was, and she grinned and told him how well she could swing a bat.

~

She’d turned up with split knuckles and split lips sometimes, or the fading remnants of a black eye. And of course there was the scar. But he didn’t actually see any violence from her until about a year after they met.

They couldn’t find a time to get lunch, so they’d met up late, and he was walking across to the subway station with her, finishing up a conversation. When suddenly, as they came around the bottom of the stairwell, a man jumped out from under the stairs.

“Give me your money!” he said, holding a gun on them shakily.

Dane paused. Well – this wasn’t an _unusual_ situation, in Stilwater. He glanced at Darcy.

Which is when she jumped forward in a blur, grabbing the guy’s arm. She did something Dane couldn’t follow, but the mugger cried out in pain and she ended up with the gun. She snapped the safety off and aimed it at him.

“Give me _your_ money,” she said.

The man stared at her, wide-eyed, hands in the air. She gestured sharply with the gun barrel, and his eyes bulged out and he started scrabbling around in his pockets. He pulled out a few filthy-looking bills and threw them on the ground in front of her.

“ _All_ of it!”

“That _is_ all of it!” the man cried, his voice high-pitched. “I _swear!_ ”

“Give me your shoes.”

Dane looked at Darcy. She looked cold, and completely serious. And angry, burningly angry, underneath it all.

The man stared at her, for a second, open-mouthed. Then started scrambling to take off his trainers, trying to bend over and keep an eye on her at the same time. Finally he got them off, and kicked them over to her.

“Get the fuck out of here,” she said, low, dangerous. “ _Now._ ”

The man looked frozen for a second, transfixed. Then he took off running, barefoot, down the street. Darcy watched him go, gun still steadily aimed at him, until he was practically out of sight. Then she sighed, lowered it and looked down. She snapped the safety off on the gun and shoved it down the back of her jeans, and then bent down and started collecting the bills.

Dane just stared at her. Wow. _Wow_.

She finished with the bills and leaned over and actually _picked up_ the man’s filthy shoes. Dane had no idea if she actually wanted them or if they were just some sort of terrible trophy. When she looked back at him, she was the girl he had lunch with again.

She saw him staring down at the shoes.

“You’ve got to make them regret it,” she said calmly.

He studied her for a second.

“You okay?” she asked.

He thought about it – and nodded. He’d barely even been involved.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked.

She shrugged and looked away.

“Around,” she said. “It wasn’t difficult. Asshole didn’t even have the safety off.”

She was looking at him, as the train rattled past overhead. He realised she was waiting to see if he still wanted to meet her again. If she’d somehow put him off and this was the end of it.

He thought about it for a second.

“Same time next month?” he asked.

She smiled, crinkling the scar, and looked down at the ground.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. I’ll call you.”

She looked up at him, still smiling.

“You want the gun for the walk back to your car?”

“No,” he said. “Thank you. I’m good.”

She shrugged, and rearranged the back of her jacket.

“See you next month,” she said. She gave him one of those up-and-down looks, smiling, and then turned and walked off up the stairs.

 

5.

He got a promotion. She grinned viciously when he told her about it. It was strangely gratifying.

They got through another winter, and a spring. And then about a month before Darcy was due to graduate, she got kicked out of college. For fighting. She assured him that the other guy came off worse, because ‘she had the tire iron’.

She didn’t seem upset about it at all. Dane was disappointed for her though.

“Didn’t you want your degree?” he asked. “You could have gotten a job with that.”

She gave him a look that suggested he didn’t get it. She said she’d learned everything about engines she wanted to know. Then that she’d have to move back to Saints Row. That _did_ seem to give her pause.

The next time they met she had another faded hoodie on.

He prodded her a little bit about possible careers. She just scowled at him. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t have a lick of ambition – her grades had been good, and she knew way more about cars than he did, than a lot of people he knew. Her ability to identify the make and model of a car on sight astounded him.

But she just rolled her eyes whenever he brought it up.

“Well, what about security then?” he asked.

She gave him a slightly warning look.

He wasn’t going to just bring it up openly, obviously.

“You seemed to handle yourself pretty well,” he said lowly. “Professionally, I mean. I’m sure a lot of firms would be glad to have you.”

“Security guards get shot,” she informed him, taking an aggressive bite of her burger.

Well. She wasn’t wrong. Especially in Stilwater. And the fact she apparently got a bit handy with a tire iron probably wouldn’t endear her to a lot of employers. She didn’t give him another inch about careers, so he dropped it.

But it made him think. She _had_ handled herself professionally. Over the next couple of months, he asked a few careful questions about where she’d learned that. That wasn’t something she just ‘picked up’ – she must have been trained. She scowled at him, and gave him a few warning looks, but he wouldn’t drop it.

“My dad was a soldier,” she finally told him, one day. Glancing around the restaurant. “He showed me a few things.”

Dane stared at her.

“Like what?” he asked. It was a perfectly good explanation – but she wouldn’t talk about it…

She shrugged, looking down at her burger.

“Plenty,” she said. “Enough.”

She wouldn’t give him anything else, so he finally had to leave it there.

He wondered if their meetings would tail off now she was living south of the river, but she kept on coming. She was quieter, and a little more guarded, and he never saw that letterman jacket again, but she came, and they kept talking. Although never about Saints Row. They kept meeting up in the suburbs too, the opposite end of the city from where she was now living. But she never complained. So there was no reason to change it.

She kept on doing her roots, month after month, and he finally got the impression the blue maybe wasn’t just a phase.

Ultor expanded well in Stilwater. They were close to having a store in every neighbourhood across the North island, and their profits were steadily going up. He knew roughly what the next five promotions he wanted would be, and Darcy clearly still didn’t understand it or care, but she smiled when he told her about it.

He didn’t know how she lived, or _where_ she lived, besides ‘in Saints Row’. She seemed to mention a different street every time they met. She still mentioned ‘work’ a lot – ‘deliveries’ was her code for it – but she also seemed to have _actual_ jobs. As a store clerk, or a warehouse packer. They never seemed to last though. He mentioned once that he could get her a job at Ultor, if she wanted – nothing fancy, just in a warehouse or delivering stock. She looked at him the same way she always did when he tried to do her a favour. So he dropped it.

 

6.

Two and a half years after they started meeting, Darcy missed a meet-up.

She was never especially punctual – she was usually either a little late, or had been waiting at the restaurant for a while before he showed up. And it’s not like they were strict about it – Dane had often cancelled their meetings at the last minute for an unexpected work commitment, which Darcy took gracefully. But for one of them to just not show up had never really – happened. She didn’t even call.

He sat in a booth for half an hour. After forty-five minutes he ordered an orange juice, just to be polite to the waitress, who was giving him a concerned look – they recognised him and Darcy here now. He called her. No answer. After an hour, he considered leaving. He left it till an hour and a half.

If she was going to show, she’d have shown by now. And she had his number. He apologised to the waitress, giving her another big smile. She giggled and said it was quite alright.

It played on his mind on the way back to his apartment. He was annoyed, a little, but – it was just so unusual. He figured she’d at least _call._

Maybe she’d lost her phone. Maybe she was caught up in something and couldn’t make a phone call right away. Family emergency, or job or something.

She didn’t call over the next few days. He saw a couple of reports on the news about Saints Row. They never really mentioned it in detail – wrong side of the river – but when he paid attention, things sounded…bad.

She didn’t really talk about it. He asked, sometimes, but she’d sit a little more hunched up and mutter something barely audible. A non-answer. She’d been showing up with less split knuckles and black eyes since she’d moved back, and he’d assumed that was a _good_ thing.

On the Monday night, when he got home from work, he loosened his tie and called the Sangre Sedienta hospital. Practised his story in his mind.

“Hi,” he said as reception picked up, bright and little desperate. “I know this is a little out of the ordinary, but…my cousin’s gone missing, and I’m really worried about her. No-one’s seen her in days. Can I just check if she’s there?”

The receptionist was obviously reluctant, but when he mentioned blue hair and the woman’s breath hitched, he knew he was on the right track.

“She’s…she’s there, isn’t she?” he said. He tried to pitch his voice as disbelieving and worried, and for some reason he didn’t have to try very hard. “Please – oh God, is she _dead?!_ ”

The woman hesitated

“She’s fine,” she said, lowly. “She’ll probably be back on her feet in a few days.”

“What happened to her?”

She paused again.

“Please, my dad’s worried sick. I just want to know what happened.”

“There was a shooting,” the woman said. “That’s all I can tell you. She wasn’t hurt that badly.”

“Thank you,” he said, trying to make it sound extra warm and relieved. Familial. “ _Thank you._ ”

He put the phone down. Tapped his fingers on the desk. Checked his watch. Considered it for a few minutes. Then called a taxi.

~ ~ ~

He marched down the halls of the hospital, trying to look like he knew where he was going. He’d dressed down for the trip, to the best of his ability, but people were still giving him funny looks. He was relatively sure which floor of the hospital she’d be on, so he was just keeping his eye out for blue.

He finally saw it in a private side room, of all places. Maybe ‘deliveries’ paid better than he thought.

He took a quick glance around the corridor. Empty. He slipped inside the room.

Her head snapped up as he entered. When she saw who he was, she looked shocked. Then angry.

“What are you doing here, Dane?” she hissed, as he closed the blinds on the window.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he replied, turning back around.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, looking like she’d be jumping up if she didn’t have an IV in her arm. “You’re gonna fuck me up!”

“You look pretty fucked up already to me.” He eyed her tubes, and the bandage around her left arm, as she slumped back down. She looked – okay though. Not at death’s door. He pulled a plastic chair over and sat down. “What happened?”

She glanced over at the blinds, as if someone might be peeking through them. She still looked pissed. But she looked him in the eyes, letting out a breath.

“I got shot,” she said.

“What – was someone trying to kill you?”

“No, it was – an accident.”

“You were _accidentally_ shot?”

“Yes!” He clearly looked disbelieving. She sighed. “It was a shootout, okay? I took a stray bullet. It happens.”

‘It happens’. Like it was an everyday occurrence.

But then – maybe it was.

He looked over at her arm.

“Is it bad?”

She shrugged, a little stiffly.

“Hit an artery,” she muttered. “Wouldn’t have come in if it wasn’t for that.”

He stared at her. She glared at a wall. He realised suddenly that she was _uncomfortable_. Vulnerable.

“Where were you?” he asked.

She gave him a look.

“Does it matter?”

“What were you doing?”

She curled her uninjured arm into a fist.

“ _Nothing,_ ” she said, staring at the wall.

There was a moment of silence between them.

She sighed.

“Look, I’m fine. I’m _going_ to be fine. You need to get out of here. I’ll call you next month – I’m sorry I couldn’t call, the hospital took my phone.”

He stared at her. Her friends probably knew as much about their meetings as his did.

He looked around the room.

“How do you have a private room?” he asked. “I didn’t think you could afford it – do you even have _cover?_ ”

She shrugged.

“They always do it with gang stuff,” she said. “So there’s less fights.”

“There’s a _gang_ involved?”

“It’s not – I didn’t see anything.” She waved him off. “It’s just what they do. I’m not in trouble.”

He looked around the room again.

“So they’re not gonna charge you for it?”

She stayed silent, glaring at the floor.

“Darcy…how are you gonna afford it?”

“I’ve got money, I can get more,” she said. “Good morphine’s fucking expensive anyway.”

She looked up at him. He was probably giving her a worried look. Her brow creased.

“Get the fuck out of here, Dane!” she snapped. “You think I’m in trouble now? Wait till someone sees me with an asshole in a $300 coat!”

He watched her. She went back to staring at the wall.

He stood up, replacing the chair in the corner.

“Goodbye, Darcy,” he said. “And it’s $400, by the way. Deceptively simple.”

He turned for the door. Got his hand around the handle.

“ _Dane,_ ” she called.

He paused.

“You get a taxi here?” she asked, like she was grinding the words out.

“Yes,” he said, looking around at her. He wasn’t stupid.

She seemed to be kicking herself, staring up at the ceiling.

“Don’t wait out front for it,” she said. “Stay in reception. Tell them to call you when they get here. And check their ID.”

He tapped his fingers on the doorframe. Then nodded at her, and left.

He took all of her advice. When he got home, he made a few calls. Paid off her hospital bill from one of his secondary accounts.

 

7.

They never talked about it, which he was happy with. He wondered if she realised it was him that had paid it, or if she thought it was her fairy godmother or something. One way or the other, he didn’t want to bring it up again. It hadn’t been her fault, so it shouldn’t have been her bill.

She wore a sling to their next couple of meetings, and had to eat one-handed. She was oddly good at it. Out of curiosity, he asked what she’d do instead of going to a hospital – just go to a free clinic or something? His mouth twisted on the word ‘free’, he was sure. Her smile was twisted in response.

“No free clinics on the Row,” she told him, looking slightly feral. “They can’t keep medicine in the building.”

There were a lot of freelance ‘doctors’ around, apparently.

By sheer coincidence, it was around this time that Ultor started getting interested in expanding across the river. The college campus alone was a tempting market, never mind the airport. It was Dane that was in charge of assessing the situation.

And he had a fairly reliable source at his disposal.

So he said –

“About the gangs…”

– one day, while they were eating.

Darcy froze, mid-bite. After a moment she forced herself to swallow, and put the chicken wing she’d been eating back down on the table. Her neck was completely stiff, and it looked like she was only just keeping herself from looking round the room.

“Stop talking Dane,” she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

“We can’t even talk about it?” he asked, equally quiet.

She looked up at him furiously, and her eyes darted off to the side a little bit.

“Somewhere private, then?”

She looked at him like he was an idiot. He felt like they were suddenly in a mafia movie.

He took one of their napkins and a pen from the inside pocket of his coat.

“What are you doing?” she hissed. She yanked the napkin away from him.

“I want you to come to my apartment,” he said. “We can talk there.”

She stared at him in frustration. He held her gaze. Then tried to take the napkin back again. She pulled it into her lap.

“Call – _call_ me,” she said. She looked at him furiously. Neck still stiff. “Call me later and tell me where it is.”

“And you’ll come?”

Somehow she looked even angrier. But he held her gaze, and eventually she looked down at the table and nodded.

He went back to his salad. After a minute Darcy went back to her food, like she was forcing it down. She moved mechanically. They finished the rest of the meal in silence.

~ ~ ~

He called her as soon as he got home and gave her his address. She didn’t say a word and just hung up the phone.

He told his doorman to expect her. The man gave him a knowing look, and Dane almost laughed. He wondered what he’d think when he actually met her.

He didn’t bother telling him to keep quiet about it. Discretion was part of the job.

At around quarter past seven there was a pounding at his door. He opened it to see Darcy staring furiously at him. She shouldered past him and into his hallway.

“Shoes off, please,” he said.

She gave him an incredulous look. He gave her a measured one. She huffed and yanked her trainers off, dropping them on the floor. Then she waited impatiently for him to kick them against the wall, and take her into a room. She glanced around at the walls.

He led her down to the main room.

“Drink?” he asked, making his way over to the minibar.

“No.”

Straight to business then.

He turned to look at her.

“Why couldn’t we talk about this at the restaurant?”

“Because people are _listening_ , Dane. And they don’t like people asking questions.”

“What, they’ve got ears in every Freckle Bitches?”

She looked mad.

“Can _you_ tell me if anyone in that place was in a gang?”

He blinked. It was colours, wasn’t it? Red or yellow?

“Or someone’s girlfriend? Or someone’s mechanic?”

Well. There was that, he supposed.

“And they don’t even like people _asking_ about them?”

“Do _you_ like people asking about Ultor?”

Hm.

“No. And neither do they.”

She shifted. Her left arm was out of a sling now, but she was still careful with it.

“Do you work for the gangs?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I always figured…” he said, “…when you were doing ‘deliveries’ – I thought it was probably for the gangs.”

“ _No,_ Dane,” she said. “I try to stay out of it.”

She stared at him, suspiciously.

“Why are you asking about them?”

He opened his mouth and she glared.

“Don’t bullshit me!”

He closed it again.

“Ultor’s expanding across the river,” he said. “I want to know what it’s like over there, on the streets. How the gangs run things. So we can make a plan.”

She stared at him for a second. Then laughed harshly and turned away, running a hand up into her hair.

“Christ,” she said.

Silence, for a minute. She turned back to him.

“You want my _advice?_ My advice is: don’t do it.”

He gave her a patient look.

“That’s not an option, Darcy.”

“How the _fuck_ is it not an option?” she demanded. “You’re doing okay on the North island? You don’t want to lose your people? Or your money? Or everything? Then fucking _stay_ there!”

“We’ve got to _expand,_ Darcy – if we don’t expand, we die.”

“You’ll die south of the river!”

She turned. Grabbed at her hair again.

“You’ve got no idea what it’s like, Dane.”

No. He didn’t.

“That’s why I’m asking,” he said.

She turned and pulled a face at him. Then scoffed.

“People live there,” he said. “ _You_ live there. It can’t be that impossible to manage.”

“ _I_ grew up there. I know how to deal with it.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m – ”

He stopped and ran a hand over his face.

“We’re going round in circles.”

Another stretch of silence. She looked at him helplessly.

“Ultor’s going to expand, Darcy,” he said. “You can’t just hold back all the time because there’s gangs. You can either help with it, or don’t.”

She stared at him. Then screwed up her face.

“You want my _help_ , Dane? Insure everything, and don’t send anyone you like to work down there.”

She stared at him again for a minute. Then turned and stormed out of the room. He heard his front door slam.

He leaned back against the minibar. Well, _that_ went well.

 

8.

He didn’t call her – wasn’t sure if she’d want to hear from him, how they’d left it. Eventually she called, impatiently. Asked if he wanted to meet up. Didn’t mention the Sharks tickets. He said it was okay by him. He huffed on the other end of the line, and ground out a date.

When they met, she was still glaring at him. Like _he_ was being difficult.

“So what did you think of the apartment,” he asked, smiling.

She blinked, surprised. Then slowly, rolled her eyes at him.

“It was _great,_ ” she said, looking down at her menu.

“Was it everything you expected?”

“No,” she said, mock-sweetly. “I thought it’d look more like an office.”

He smiled at her. She looked up and eventually, smiled back.

He didn’t ask about the gangs again. He relied on his police contacts, and some established South island businesspeople. What he gathered, essentially, was that the gangs did things differently down there. There were gangs everywhere, of course – even _he’d_ heard of Ben King – but on the South island they were a little more _open_ about things. Getting decent insurance wasn’t actually bad advice – the Stilwater P.D. backed Darcy up on that one. He figured out which the most dangerous, tumultuous neighbourhoods were – Saints Row was among them – and made a plan that avoided them, to begin with.

But just opening an Ultor store down there would be like throwing a watch into a blender. It was a like a warzone – Darcy had the shrapnel in her arm to prove that. Add onto that the amount of ‘protection’ they’d have to pay if they started doing well…it was a daunting prospect.

What they needed was a way to establish themselves that wasn’t first and foremost about money. Something public. Something that would make the gangs think twice about coming after them openly.

He considered a few PR stunts. But as luck would have it, he found out Stilwater Arena was looking for sponsors. And offering naming rights.

It was perfect. But it was a big ask. Ultor wasn’t in sports, and it was a big investment for very little immediate return. But the amount of publicity it would give them – even the people who didn’t appreciate it would know about it. Even people who didn’t buy from them – yet – would have Ultor’s name on their lips. And the _sports fans_ – he remembered sports fans. All that loyalty, and devotion, just waiting to go anywhere. Anywhere they were promised a win. And there were a lot of sports fans in Stilwater.

His superiors were still dubious, but he convinced them. Apart from anything, it would give them an easy segue into sportswear.

He didn’t tell Darcy. Let her find out from the newspapers like everyone else. After it was announced, she turned up to their next meeting giving him a cynical look. But he swore, underneath that, she looked impressed.

 

9.

Three years since they’d met, and Darcy had still never stepped foot in an Ultor store.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked.

“Your t-shirts are $20,” she said. “From what I hear. I’m good, thank you.”

He looked down at her outfit. It was basically the same one she was wearing when they met. There were holes in it.

“Where do you shop?” he asked.

She looked up at him, smirking around a bite of her burger.

“Sloppy Seconds,” she said, swallowing.

He controlled the wince. She enjoyed it anyway.

“You’d look _really_ good in our new autumn range,” he told her.

She stopped for a moment, and seemed to consider.

“How do you feel about shoplifting?”

He blinked at her. Then laughed. She grinned back.

“I’ll consider it a test of our security,” he said.

 

10.

At their next lunch, Darcy was wearing Ultor sunglasses and a big smile.

 

11.

Expansion was slow in the south, but in a sense that worked in their favour. As Darcy, in her own way, had pointed out, the prices Ultor charged weren’t for every market, and there was no point paying rent in an area that wouldn’t pay it back. Better to go slow, make a name for themselves, and let the customers who _could_ afford it come to them.

The Dome was an easy exploit – as soon as they started licensing Sharks’ strips and rolling out sportswear, people were clamouring for a shop to buy it in. They opened up just across the street. From there it was easy enough to go West to the University, and look into who supplied the Skeeters’ uniforms. Getting that contract gave them an opening to make links, and open a store of their own in a prime location. Then there was a neighbourhood just to the South – which Dane privately thought was ripe for development – with a lot of beautiful waterfront property. When they were established near the campus, they started looking for properties there. All the stores did well, with the support of head office behind them, and Dane recommended leaving them to settle in.

There was _some_ trouble, naturally – getting security seemed to be an issue, and there were quite a few early insurance claims. But the premiums Dane had arranged really worked out for them, and eventually things ran smoothly. Dane’s superiors were very pleased, and he got another promotion.

He’d personally been down to look at a few of the sites for new stores, and got a look at the South island himself. He didn’t mention that to Darcy. It was interesting. In some places, it looked almost no different than the suburbs, but the mood seemed a little more - harried.

He’d seen more than a few groups of people dressed in red, or all in yellow, hanging out on street corners, staring at him and his men as they worked. He didn’t look at them for too long. He wasn’t looking for a fight.

Darcy brought up one of the new stores, long before they’d announced they’d taken over the property. Word got around, clearly. She glared at him, and he ignored her. Progress had to happen. She went back to her food a little more aggressively than before, but they didn’t discuss it, so they didn’t argue about it.

It’s not like he didn’t have security with him.

Chinatown would be a tough neighbourhood to crack. But potentially rewarding. He wasn’t sure they should consider opening at all in the Projects or neighbourhoods like Rebadeaux – they had to think of their image. And Saints Row – that was right off the table, according to his contacts. It should have been a short hop – just across the water from the Downtown stores. But it wasn’t. Which basically left the Barrio – another tough neighbourhood. But they could do it. They needed to get down to the airport, without making a mockery of their entire logistics system. But it was all moving along pretty well.

 

12.

He’d never planned to ask Darcy about the gangs again – no point trying to get blood from a stone. But things didn’t work out like that.

He noticed she was a little more agitated than usual at a couple of their lunches. She’d gotten a job at garage near their usual meeting place, and she’d been happy about it, initially. But had slowly gotten quieter and quieter about it. She was smiling less, watching every person who came through the door, whipping around to look at every car that drove past the window. Then she dyed her hair a dark, almost midnight blue – Dane thought it was black the first time he saw it. He asked her about it, and she just scowled and muttered something angry. He decided not to push.

Dane thought she might be in trouble. She seemed _hunted_. But she never said anything about it, and Dane assumed if it was dangerous, or she wanted him to know, she’d tell him.

And then one day, they were eating lunch at their usual Freckle Bitches, when loud music and the squeal of brakes sounded from outside. He looked up to see a garishly painted yellow and blue car parked up, just on the other side of the window, and a bunch of teenagers getting out. Maybe four or five of them, all laughing and joking together.

It wasn’t an unusual sight out in the Suburbs, barring the car, so he turned away –

And saw Darcy staring at them, completely still.

He looked back at them – they came in through the restaurant door, still laughing. Everyone looked around. They followed the waitress, but almost ignored her. They didn’t seem to be looking for anyone in particular. But…

They were all wearing blue.

And Dane knew enough by now to know that was a bad sign.

He looked at Darcy. Her eyes were tracking the group as they walked to the back of the restaurant. Her head was ducked slightly, but she was completely intent on them. When they all sat down, her shoulders dropped, but she still looked nervous. She met his eyes – tensed up again and tried to cover for it. She started eating her fries, mechanically.

Dane wasn’t exactly sure what to do. _Something_ was clearly happening. But they didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger. So – like Darcy – he went back to his salad, quietly.

Blue was new.

When they left, Darcy walked a little quicker than usual. As they stood on the kerb, her nervous look transformed into one of blistering hatred.

As soon as he got home, he called his police contacts. Asked if they knew about any new criminal groups starting up near the suburbs? They paused, and said no. Nothing like that. Nothing was going on in the suburbs, except a few more street races than before. A few more fights breaking out, at those street races. Just kids being kids.

He called Darcy and asked her to come over again.

 

13.

She couldn’t come over that night, said it would have to be the next day. Dane did his paperwork, and had brunch with a new contractor, and told his doorman to expect her. The man looked a little nervous this time.

She showed up around 9pm. She looked annoyed, but more deflated this time. She came in and took off her shoes without him even asking her.

They went down to the main room.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked.

She considered.

“What’ve you got?”

“What do you like?”

“Whiskey?”

“I’ll get you a scotch.”

He poured the drinks and handed one to her, gesturing for her to sit on a couch. She wrinkled her nose a little at the square, neat leather, but she sat down.

She took a sip of her drink, and then frowned at it.

“What?” he asked

“Is this _whiskey?_ ”

She looked genuinely disbelieving.

“It’s scotch, it’s – top of the line…”

A thought occurred to him.

“Where do you normally buy your whiskey?”

“Brown Baggers.”

Jesus Christ.

“Well, it’s the good stuff. Not paint stripper.”

She still looked dubious.

“It’ll get you drunk faster.”

Well, _that_ seemed to do the trick. She eyed the glass again, and then shrugged and threw back half of it.

Good liquor was basically wasted on her. Noted.

She lowered the glass and tapped on it with her nails.

“I know what you’re gonna ask me, Dane.”

She looked at him. He held her gaze.

“If something’s going on, I’d like to know about it,” he said. “I know you weren’t acting like that over nothing.”

“Can’t your _police_ buddies tell you anything?”

“No, they seem to think everything’s fine over in New Hennequet. Just a bunch of rowdy teenagers.”

She snorted at that, smiling unpleasantly.

“Is there something going on?”

She shifted uneasily.

“I’ve just heard some things,” she said, taking another hit of scotch.

“Like?”

She scratched at her brow, and a hard, irritated look came over her face.

“I don’t know why you always try to get involved, Dane,” she said. “It’s got _nothing_ to do with you.”

“We’ve got stores in the suburbs, Darcy.”

She laughed, harshly. Then fixed him with a look.

“It’s not just the _stores_ you need to worry about,” she said. “ _I_ heard they love doing laps of the Ultor Dome.”

“ _Who?_ ”

She looked away again, scowling.

“They’re calling themselves,” she said, “the ‘Westside Rollerz’.”

“Is it a new gang?”

She was quiet for a second.

“Do you know who Ben King is?” she asked.

He blinked. Well, that wasn’t exactly _irrelevant_.

“Yeah, he’s a businessman, runs a record company. And the…is it the ‘Vice Kings’?”

She was staring at him like maybe he could tell her something she didn’t know. She looked away again.

“You know about the Vice Kings?”

“Yeah. They run most of the city, except in the Southeast. Wear yellow.”

“’Wear yellow’. Is that all your friends in the P.D. would tell you?”

She gave him a look. But he’d put up with her trying to irritate him before.

“You know he’s big buddies with the Chief, don’t you?”

Well. That he didn’t know. Huh. Explained why people were so happy to let a known crime lord go to City Hall functions.

Darcy was rubbing her forehead again.

“Ben King’s – going soft.”

She tensed suddenly, glancing around as though someone might be listening, besides Dane. Then she seemed to force herself to relax. She looked at him and narrowed her eyes, studying him. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully.

“The police, the music company, that’s where he wants to be these days. Everybody knows he doesn’t give a fuck about what’s happening on the street anymore. _Everybody._ ”

He waited for her to continue.

“So people are popping up, pushing his boys around. And getting somewhere, because he’s not pushing back.”

“So this new gang, they’re challenging Ben King?”

She shook her head.

“No, they’re challenging his _boys_ , who are out on their own. Well – it’s where the ‘kids’ live. In a way, they’ve got every right.”

She curled her lip, despite her words.

“Kids from the suburbs?”

“Yeah. Rich kids, with rich parents, who think buying a decent set of wheels and having a daddy that can spring you from prison means you can run the streets.”

“And they want the Vice Kings out of their neighbourhood? What’s wrong with that?”

She gave him an unpleasant smile.

“They don’t want the Vice Kings out – _they_ want in. They want respect. In Stilwater – the way they want to run, the only way to get it is to take it.”

She had another drink of scotch.

“Even if they didn’t, the Kings wouldn’t give up. Especially now Ben King doesn’t care. So there’s one way it’s going out there.”

“It’s gonna get heavy?”

She laughed a little. And then her shoulders stiffened.

“Yeah,” she said, looking over at the wall.

She looked back at him. Gave him one of those up-and-down looks. Pressed her lips together.

“I don’t think we should meet at that Freckle Bitches anymore,” she said.

He blinked. Well that was…drastic.

“You really think it’s going to be that bad?” he asked.

She nodded, solemnly.

He thought for a minute.

“But what about the stores? We’ve got a lot of money in the suburbs –”

She scoffed.

“Fuck the stores, Dane! They’re fucked! Think about your goddamned _self._ ”

“This is my _job_ , Darcy! If the suburbs are gonna tank, I need to know.”

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes.

“There’s nothing you can do.”

He thought for a minute.

“The police won’t – ?”

“Won’t go after the Vice Kings while Ben King’s around, and won’t arrest a kid from Quinbecca, no. Wouldn’t risk their life against any gang for a _store_ , anyway.”

Well shit.

There was silence for a minute.

“Dane –” She broke off, scratching her head. “I only told you this because I think you’re smart enough to stay out of trouble, if you know where it’s coming from. You’ve gotta listen to me.”

She looked at him almost earnestly.

He sighed, looking away.

Her glass was empty.

“Do you want another drink?” he asked, gesturing it.

She looked down at her glass, then sighed and held it out.

He thought as he poured both a fresh glass. They could up the insurance in the suburbs. Hire a more security maybe – but would they just be pouring it down the drain if it was all going up in smoke anyway? Then there was the Dome – _shit._

“Your office is round here, right?”

He glanced at her, surprised.

“Yeah,” he said.

She was looking towards the window, rubbing her arms slightly like she was trying to keep warm.

“It won’t come out here,” she told him. Like she was trying to reassure someone. “Ben King wants this neighbourhood.”

He came back over with the glasses, and held one out to her. She seemed startled out of her thoughts, and took it.

He sat back down as she took a hit of scotch, and he realised she looked a little red in the face. She couldn’t be drunk already, could she? She was talking alright. She was moving a little restlessly, trying to spread herself out now, and reached up to brush the hair off the back of her neck. He realised she was still in that goddamn hoodie, and it was late summer, in his perfectly heated apartment.

“You can take that off, you know,” he said. She looked at him and he tipped his glass towards her torso.

She stilled, and for a minute it was awkward. He’d hardly ever seen her out of a hoodie or jacket, besides – that first day. He wondered for a minute if he crossed a line – but then she put her glass down, and raised her arms.

She had a red vest on, underneath. She threw the hoodie down on the couch beside her, close enough that she could still grab it. She had more tattoos than he remembered. There was one on her right forearm that was new, but he couldn’t make it out. He looked at her left arm, and saw the bullet wound he knew would be there, and the rose-and-thorns band he hadn’t seen since that day four years ago. For a brief moment he felt sand on his neck and could taste saltwater, feel it dripping on his forehead.

He held still and the moment passed.

She still had one hand on the hoodie. She was more muscular than he remembered, broader in the shoulders. He wondered if the baggy clothing was really to cover that up – so no-one could see what she was capable till she wanted them to.

“What did your father train you in?”

She stiffened. Made to glance around the room again, then stopped herself.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said.

Her look said that wasn’t funny. She looked down at her hands.

“Guns,” she muttered, shrugging.

“Handguns?”

Another uneasy shrug.

“Yeah.”

She looked up at the far wall, not at him. He narrowed his eyes.

“Anything else?”

She sighed. And looked at him.

“Rifles,” she said. “Submachine guns. Shotguns. Fighting with a knife. Hand-to-hand stuff. Explosives.”

“ _Explosives?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“Is there a lot of C4 on Saints Row?”

She smiled wryly at him.

“More than you’d think.”

“Anything else?”

She shrugged again.

“Daddy had some friends who were pilots. They gave me a few lessons at the airport.”

“You can _fly?_ ”

“Sort of.”

He stared at her.

“So you’re basically a soldier.”

She looked off at the wall.

“I’m not a soldier,” she muttered.

“But I mean, training-wise. Did he show you everything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything he knew? Like how you are with a handgun.”

She shrugged.

“I guess. Yeah, I think so.”

She seemed to be an odd mixture of proud and uncomfortable.

He stared at her.

“So why’re you so afraid of the gangs?”

She gave him a humourless smile.

“I can’t take out a whole _gang,_ Dane,” she said. “And none of it means shit if you can’t afford ammunition. Unless you think I should take them all out with a kitchen knife?”

Silence again.

“So why did he teach you?”

She shrugged.

“He wanted me to live.”

There wasn’t a lot he could say to that statement.

“Are there a lot of fights on Saints Row?” he asked.

She looked around at him, so the scar was in full view.

“Yes,” she said, patiently.

“Is that…where you got that?” he asked, carefully. He raised his hand towards the scar.

She raised a hand like she wanted to touch it. Then pushed it down again.

“I did this to myself,” she told him, looking him square in the eyes.

He blinked. He had honestly never considered that.

“Why?” he asked.

She held his gaze for a minute.

“A pimp told me with a face like mine I could make some _real_ money,” she said. “So I cut it to make him go away.”

He blinked again.

“That seems a little dramatic.”

“He wasn’t the first to ask. I wanted them to stop.”

“Huh. Didn’t want to be a hooker, then?”

She snapped her eyes up to his.

“I didn’t want to work for a _pimp,_ ” she said.

There was clearly a distinction. He decided not to chase it up.

“So you got that to put them off?”

“Yeah,” she said, taking another drink.

“Forever?”

She gave him another smile.

“It’s still here, isn’t it?”

“What did your dad say?”

She paused.

“He looked upset about it at first. Then he told me he was proud of me.”

“What about your mother?”

“She wasn’t there.”

“What – since you got it?”

“She’s a truck driver, does long-haul jobs. She’s not around much. She saw it after about six months later. She looked surprised. Didn’t say anything.”

She reached up and rubbed it.

“Does it hurt?”

“Nah. Feels a little weird when I smile, sometimes.”

She smiled, as if to demonstrate. She studied his completely unmarked face, and looked away, still smiling.

He stretched. It was late. She noticed, and sat up.

“I should go,” she said, throwing back the last of her scotch and pulling her hoodie back on.

“So where’d you want to meet next month?”

They never did discuss that. She paused, blinking like she was surprised by the question. Then frowned. Seemed to give it some thought.

“Amberbrook?” she asked.

Amberbrook was where the Amphitheatre was, a relatively pleasant waterfront neighbourhood. It was also, if he recalled correctly, right in the heart of Vice Kings territory, because it was right next to the business district. Which meant it was probably about the safest place in the city right now, if Darcy was correct, but it was also somewhere Dane was more likely to be seen by someone he knew.

He stared at her for a moment, as awaited his answer.

Well. He had his story in place. He was handing over tickets to a girl who’d saved his life. He was grateful.

“Yeah. Sure,” he said.

She looked relieved.

“Freckle Bitches?” she said.

Of course.

“Yep.”

“There’s one by the museum.”

“Right. I’ll find out the address.”

Maybe he could convince her to try sushi one day.

She gave him a scrutinising look he couldn’t quite work out. And then smiled at him.

 

14.

He did what he could about the suburbs, which wasn’t much. Upped the insurance, upped the security, organised conflict resolution training. As for the Ultor Dome – he recommended security ignore whatever went on out of hours. Apparently there was nothing much they could do about it, and there was no point pouring employees down the drain.

The calls started coming in pretty quickly, maybe a couple of weeks after he’d talked to Darcy. It was just one store at first, reports of damaged property, then increasingly alarmed reports about fighting in the streets. More and more started calling, and the reports got worse. One of the clerks got knocked down by a car, and had to go on leave. Dane couldn’t tell them anything except to sit tight, remember their training, and wait for it to be over.

Darcy had assured him it would be over. At one of their meetings, when he was clearly distracted by work problems, she told him it would settle down eventually, that things would get back to normal – in a roundabout way, of course, out in public. She hinted that everyone wanted neighbourhoods to keep making money, really – that it was in everyone’s best interests for things to keep running. They’d try not to do too much damage.

Which was nice. It was just a matter of whether they could keep things afloat in the meantime.

He got it, really. Essentially, this was a takeover. He’d seen enough reports to know that gangs were essentially a business, and he knew personally that business could be brutal. Changing management was always tricky, especially across an entire area. It was just a shitty thing for normal people to have to deal with.

The news reports started coming in not long afterwards. There might have been Ben King and well-off parents trying to keep things quiet, but it was still the suburbs. There was shaky footage of bodies covered up in parking lots, brightly coloured cars speeding away. Ultor got more and more panicked calls from the local stores – they told them to keep calm, and weather it out.

Ultor’s current range was largely blue, and while sales went up in the suburbs, they went sharply down everywhere else. Dane put in a call to product development and suggested a drastic change for next season. But not too much red or yellow. His superiors wanted to stop funding expansion on the South island, focus on shoring up the suburbs, and he had to talk them out of it. They were trying to open a store in Chinatown, and they’d only get one chance at a neighbourhood like that. If they didn’t support it, they may as well have poured all the money so far down the drain. And they were doing _well_ across the South island – he suspected people didn’t want to have to go to the store near the Dome.

He saw Ben King for the first time at a fundraiser for Alderman Hughes’ fledgling mayoral campaign. He couldn’t say he was exactly _impressed,_ given the circumstances. But he certainly had presence, Dane would give him that.

~ ~ ~

His meetings with Darcy got better, out of the suburbs. She had a habit of eyeing up everyone in yellow, and occasionally would mess nervously with her hair, but she was clearly happier. Dane found he much preferred the new neighbourhood. There was a lot of beautiful waterfront there, and he was puzzled, as always, that the city hadn’t done more with it. It was such a waste.

Darcy quit her job at the garage, which Dane assumed was for the best. She came to their third lunch with a black eye, bruises along her jaw and favouring her left leg, and all she’d say about it was something about “trouble at Madam Wu’s”. Dane had never been so worried about someone he knew seeing him with her. A kid with scars and blue hair, a decade younger than him, in a Freckle Bitches. But nobody did. Or if they did they kept quiet about it, which was good enough for him.

It turned out to be _Darcy’s_ friends they should have been worrying about.

It was maybe their fifth meet-up in Amberbrook, and they’d eaten, and were wandering along the waterfront, finishing up a conversation. Darcy was a laidback, easy person to talk to. Mostly because she didn’t really give a fuck about anything.

Suddenly, this guy came storming up to them. Dane nearly moved to get out of his way, but the guy was staring right at them. And walking straight up to them.

Then he stopped, agitatedly, right in front of them.

“This the guy?” he demanded, of Darcy. He gave Dane a once-over, sneering. “This your _sugar daddy?_ ”

Dane looked at Darcy, and saw her giving the angry man the flattest, most unimpressed look imaginable.

“Fuck off, Terry,” she said.

‘Terry’ seemed more upset than ever by that response. He balled his hands into fists, glaring at Dane.

“This is the guy you won’t see me for?” he asked. He bared his teeth slightly. “This _asshole,_ what, is he _paying_ you –”

Dane put his hand up in attempt to start calming the situation down, but before he could, Darcy’s hand shot out and grabbed the guy’s collar. She drove a knee up _hard_ into his stomach, then let him fall to the pavement. Then she kicked him in the stomach. Then again, and _again._

She dropped into a crouch, and leaned over the guy, grabbing his collar.

“Leave me the fuck alone, Terry,” she said, while he gasped for breath. Then she dropped him again and stood up. She looked round at Dane.

“Come on,” she said, and stepped over the guy, walking off.

Dane looked down at Terry, who still seemed to be having trouble drawing a breath. He looked around at the rest of the street. There were a couple of people looking over, seemingly concerned – but they didn’t come over. Most people just kept walking. A couple of guys in yellow, sitting on a car across the street, were nearly killing themselves laughing.

Darcy had gotten nearly 50 yards down the pavement. Dane looked back down at Terry, still gasping – and then stepped around him. He walked briskly to catch up.

It took him a little while, since he wasn’t going to run. When he did, she didn’t look around or say anything, just huffed in irritation. They walked a little further, and then she swung round, up against the low sea wall, stopping with her hands jammed in her pockets.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said, shortly. “That guy – I banged him a couple of times, and then he started getting all clingy. Thought the only reason I wouldn’t be his _girl_ is because I must be seeing someone else. There were a lot of reasons.” She scoffed. “Asshole.”

Dane looked out over the water.

“Did you need to kick the crap out of him?”

She gave him a sharp look.

“I wanted him to get the _message_ , Dane. The guy was fucking _following_ me. Or should I have waited until he swung at you?”

Well. Put it like _that_.

“Is he going to be a problem?”

She looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

He met her eyes.

“I didn’t think anyone from your neighbourhood knew about – you and me. Is it gonna be a problem for you? Is he gonna start talking?”

She stared at him for a minute, and then looked out over the water, frowning.

“He’s not gonna say anything,” she said. “Not now I kicked his ass.”

She furrowed her brow for a second. Then it cleared, and she sighed.

“Do you want me to take care of him?” she asked, looking back around.

He looked at her, then did a double-take. It almost sounded like…she was offering to kill that guy. If he asked her to. Like she was offering _very_ casually.

She just looked at him evenly.

He considered it for a minute.

“He’s not connected, no-one’ll miss him,” she said.

He thought it over, looking out at the water. Was he gonna order a hit on some lowlife from Saints Row, who was obviously not that stable? Did he care about what people in Darcy’s neighbourhood thought of him? Then again, if it got out – but what was the guy gonna do, talk to the papers?

He looked back at Darcy.

“If it’s not a problem for you, I don’t care,” he said.

She looked out over the waves.

“If he does say something, I’ll just tell them the truth,” she said. “You get me Sharks tickets. Nothing wrong with that.”

He looked at her. She smiled a little. He smiled back.

“No,” he said.

They stared out at the water together for a few minutes.

“But if you see him again, let me know,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Noted.

 

15.

As Darcy promised, things calmed down in the suburbs. Ultor cleaned up, calmed their staff down, and restocked. Happily for them, most of the action had taken place on roads or empty parking lots, away from most of the stores. The Dome, too, seemed to settle down, although there were still late night races. Things at the University got a little tense, but not for very long, and then everything stabilised again. The police reports, which he was paying a _lot_ more money for now, suggested the borders had been redrawn and no-one was pushing them, so it was likely to stay calm for a while. Dane hoped that in a few months, they could turn their attention back to expansion, rather than damage control.

He kept looking at Saints Row on the city map. It was ridiculous. There was hardly anyone there who could afford their stuff. But it was such an obvious route down to the further reaches of the South island. They wouldn’t have the culture clash of the Barrio – and there _were_ stores there. They’d have to go through the Barrio eventually, but if they had another store, something to re-establish Ultor as a brand before trying to appeal to a new customer base…

But it _was_ ridiculous. Even apart from it being a low-income area, some of the security reports he was getting didn’t bear thinking about, and made him seriously question how Darcy was living. But it was interesting – looking back at the history of the city, Saints Row used to be the most desirable neighbourhoods in the city. Back in the 60s and 70s – before the gangs came along. He stared at the old pictures, and tried to Darcy on those streets. Born into the city’s elite. He couldn’t quite shake the image of blue hair, or the scar. He laughed to himself about it.

Fortunes changed.

They were always changing in Stilwater, apparently, because they suddenly started getting reports of violence around the airport. Then in the neighbourhoods around the airport. His police contacts informed him that the Carnales, the other Stilwater gang, were starting to push their borders. Clearly losing so many neighbourhoods in the suburbs had made the Vice Kings seem weak, and now all the sharks were circling. It made perfect sense of course, but it was – irritating.

The news stations didn’t seem that interested in covering the South island, and his people at the police station were as tight-lipped as ever when it came to Vice Kings incidents – no matter _how_ much he paid them – but between them, various results from Ultor’s market research, and Darcy acting a little more edgy and distracted than usual, he assumed it was a situation that was likely to continue.

He invited Darcy up to his apartment again, but this time she refused.

Ben King was doing better than ever in the business world though. Aisha was a smash hit, and Kingdom Come records was going from strength to strength. It only irked Dane that the man wouldn’t either look after his _other_ business assets or cut ties altogether. This was what happened when you split your focus.

He did what he at Ultor. The Barrio was less and less appealing by the day, and the stores in the suburbs were still regaining their equilibrium, so he focused on that. But it only reinforced why expansion was so important – you could deal better with a problem area if you had assets in other areas to fall back on. It was just going to have to wait, that’s all.

He started noticing a correlation between news reports mentioning Saints Row and Darcy being quieter at their meetings. The airport was a long way from Harrowgate, but the Carnales seemed to be gaining ground fast. Chinatown was a lot closer, and from what he heard that was blue now – Ultor had barely even noticed that. The predators were circling – and from what he’d heard, of the area and Ben King, Saints Row was easy pickings

Dane offered to get her a job again, at a store in the suburbs maybe. She considered it for a brief second, and then gave him one hard looks and turned him down. He’d have thought any chance to spend some time outside of Saints Row would have been a relief, but she’d made her feelings clear. And she could take care of herself.

 

16.

In a few months, things calmed down again. The Barrio had changed hands again, and Dane started looking around again. The recent troubles had brought the property values down, and the new ‘tenants’ seemed eager for new business.

And then – Darcy suddenly wasn’t just edgy at their meetings, she was _nervous_. She messed with her all the time, glanced up at the door every couple of minutes. She’d lose herself, just staring out of the window. There was clearly something up, but she wouldn’t say anything. Just went back to her food, not meeting his eyes.

He paid attention when they mentioned Saints Row on the news, so he noticed when it started getting mentioned more. A couple of shootouts, a couple of ‘altercations’. And then a new name got bandied around: ‘the Third Street Saints’. A new gang, apparently. Coming straight up out of Saints Row.

He called his police contacts. According to them, this new gang were basically just residents of Saints Row rising up against the other gangs. Just a bunch of no-marks and well-known psychos who weren’t going to take it anymore. They didn’t have the money or the contacts of the Westside Rollerz, and from the sounds of it they were fighting off _every_ gang at once. Dane didn’t imagine they’d last long.

It was hard for him to picture what this meant for Saints Row – it wasn’t like there was much property down there worth defending. But he didn’t envy Darcy. She seemed anxious enough when a new gang sprang up across the city from where she lived. Now she was basically living at ground zero.

He offered her a job again. She said no again. She didn’t even meet his eyes. These days she wasn’t so much quiet at in lockdown. He asked her to come to his apartment, where they could talk more freely. She said no.

She kept coming to meet him though. Spent most of her time staring out of the window, but she came. And then sometimes he’d look up and she’d be staring at him like he was the most important thing in the world. He was never quite sure what to do when that happened. She never said anything – just went back to staring out of the window, shortly afterwards.

It occurred to him that she might die. Suddenly, while he was getting dressed for work one day. He’d never really thought about it before, not even when she was in the hospital, but she might die, and he wouldn’t even know about it. He’d just miss a call from her, miss a lunch, not be able to find her even if he called the hospitals. He’d never know for sure.

He went back to tying his tie. There was nothing he could do about it. And Darcy was pretty good at not dying.

The news reports…got worse. Dane had assumed that, like the ‘Westside Rollerz’ (no prizes for branding), the Saints would just want to push the other gangs out of their neighbourhood, and then leave it at that. But they didn’t. They seemed to be going after the Rollerz specifically. Blue racing cars were blown up in the middle of traffic, in the middle of the day. There were car crashes and pile-ups every day – liberally peppered with gunfire. A truck crashed directly into the Ultor Dome, and they were _very_ lucky not to have significant structural damage.

Dane didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like they were consolidating territory, gaining a little batch of neighbourhoods they could hold. They were going after the gang, all over the city. Like they wanted a war. Or to wipe them out.

He wanted to ask Darcy about it. So badly. He called her, and she interrupted him to tell him not to call so much, it was making people suspicious, and then hung up. When they met, he opened his mouth to ask her to come over, and she looked afraid of what he was going to say, afraid to hear it. So he stopped trying.

Darcy sat at their lunches with a fist clenched, white knuckled. After a while she started having the most mechanical conversations with him he’d ever had in his life. And he’d made a _lot_ of small talk. She talked so smoothly about things she was obviously barely even paying attention to. Sometimes she didn’t even look up from the window.

They couldn’t discuss what was happening on the streets, and she knew he didn’t like to talk about Ultor too much in public. So they discussed cars, sports. Civic issues.

He asked her once what she thought about Alderman Hughes, just out of curiosity. He assumed she’d be a Winslow girl, given his policies – but she actually didn’t give a fuck about either of them. Barely even recognised Winslow’s name when Dane said it. He asked her what she thought about the mayor’s promises to ‘revitalise’ the poorer areas of the city, including Saints Row. She smiled at him hollowly, and said it was a ‘nice idea’.

~ ~ ~

The fighting went on for _months._ Car crashes and gunfights nearly every week. The Saints weren’t going anywhere, but they weren’t making a lot of progress either.

Darcy got paler and paler, until she was almost a ghost of herself. Dane knew enough about stress to know there was only so long you could go until you either snapped or couldn’t feel it anymore. Especially if your situation didn’t get any better. He wondered which one she’d be. As for Ultor – well. The stores in the suburbs were calling again, and he was genuinely having to look into hiring a PTSD counsellor.

And that was just one problem. Employees kept having to take compassionate leave to bury their kids. The roads weren’t safe. Their _trucks_ were getting hijacked. A couple of security guards got shot, in what Dane was sure was a very important territorial dispute, and they had to hire cover. And who they paid protection money to kept changing. Sometimes, they had to pay it twice, rather than risk a fight.

As the months went on, it became less and less clear that Ultor could weather this storm. Any business could survive problems for a little while, with good management – but there had to be a break some time, there had to be a chance to get back on an even keel. You couldn’t haemorrhage money forever. Their stock prices were going down, and down.

Dane did what he could. They focused on the flagship stores Downtown, on special promotions to draw customers there. He pushed for them to open the store in the Barrio, and they did – and it paid off. People seemed happier to walk the streets there than in the suburbs, which meant more footfall, and more people _interested_ in shopping. And there were apparently a lot of residents newly flush with money, and ready to spend it.

But the fact remained that Saints Row’s problems had suddenly become the city’s problems, and no-one he knew knew quite what to do with it. Attitudes to Saints Row and the gangs had always been simple before – you ignored them. Now it wasn’t quite so easy.

That was never more clear than when a well-known attorney got run off the road in his own limousine. Dane’s entire office seemed to hold their breath the next day. News reports suggested the man had been dirty, maybe even pulling some strings within the Westside Rollerz themselves, and while that didn’t surprise Dane, the fact it had come back on him did. It surprised everyone.

It wasn’t all bad though. Dane’s immediate superior got caught in a pile-up and broke both her legs. Dane got a temporary promotion while she recuperated, and set out to make sure it wasn’t temporary.

A week later, the news reported that Saints Row was on fire. Dane…wasn’t really sure what to do with that. He wasn’t due to meet Darcy for another couple of weeks, and she’d asked him to stop calling. But she didn’t call _him._

After a few days he gave in and gave her a call.

It rang for a little while. But then picked up.

“Danny,” Darcy said quietly, flatly. He almost didn’t recognise her voice.

“Darcy?” he said. He felt relief bloom in his chest – ignored it. “You okay?”

She sighed.

“Yeah,” she said. Her voice was raspy. She sounded tired. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Don’t call me, Danny,” she said, with no particular energy behind it. Then she hung up the call.

She was alive, at least.

The next day there were reports of a truck running wild in the city. Eventually it ran into a gas tanker, and they both blew up. Somehow the tanker’s driver survived, but it caused massive amounts of structural damage to the freeway. Leading to a long, long clean-up operation and an entire slip road being closed, messing with the traffic in Stilwater for the foreseeable future. But the news reports claimed that the last figurehead of the Westside Rollerz had been killed in the explosion, and most of the gang’s remaining leadership with him. The Westside Rollerz were done in Stilwater, and whatever grudge the Saints had against them was finished. Hopefully, it was all over.

He didn’t call Darcy, as she requested. Eventually she called him, sounding pretty subdued, and they set up another meeting.

He expected her to be relieved – although he supposed he didn’t know exactly what had happened over those days in Saints Row. She looked more ragged than ever, and just as pale. She stared out of the window most of the time, barely even seeming to notice him.

Dane watched her over his salad. She did _not_ look like someone who thought it was all over.

That Monday he recommended Ultor consider bolstering their security across the city, if they could afford it.

 

17.

Things were quiet for a month or so. The news anchors almost didn’t know what to do with themselves, but Nick McGee’s antics were always around to fill the gap. And then two drug labs were blown up in Carnales territory. The work of a ‘lone bomber’, apparently. But everyone knew who was behind most of the random bombings in Stilwater.

Dane couldn’t understand it. Were the Saints after all the gangs? Were they after the whole city? He had to applaud their ambition, but…this was like nothing he’d ever heard of before. From some nobodies from the slums.

And it wasn’t like it wasn’t costing the Saints anything. Some names came up again and again – Little, Gat, Bradshaw, always involved somehow, always making some lucky escape. But there were considerably more who didn’t make it. A series of names and faces flashing across the TV screens, suspected to be associated with the Saints – and then reports that they were found dead, killed in a shootout, killed in an attack on another gang’s property. But the Saints just kept going.

When he saw Darcy again, she was – jittery. She looked about ready to snap. She kept clenching her fists and unclenching them, looking around like she’d forgotten to do something – then realising it was nothing, forcing her hands back down to the table again. Staring off into space.

They finished their meal quickly, and Dane suggested they go for a walk. She sped off down the street, barely even looking back at him. He jogged, slightly, to keep up. When they reached the end of the boulevard, he sat down, and watched her pace in front of him, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

It took her maybe ten minutes to look up and catch him. Then she stopped herself, clenched her jaw, and balled her fist. Like she had to be ready for a fight.

“Come to my apartment, Darcy,” he said.

She glanced at him, and for a minute looked a little lost. Then, she sneered.

“Why, do you want some more _advice?_ ”

“Because you look like you could do with a talk.”

She looked at him doubtfully. Then looked away. She raised a hand to her face – and then forced it down again. She squared her shoulders, and her eyes hardened.

“I’m fine,” she said.

He took a breath and rolled his eyes.

“ _Are_ you?” he asked.

She glanced at him again. Then round at the street. There was no-one within hearing distance. She actually leaned forward and checked over the sea wall.

She leaned against it, heavily.

“I don’t know what they want,” she said, quietly.

Dane leaned forward. She was staring off into the water.

“What?”

“I don’t know what they want, I don’t – ”

She cut herself off and sighed, turning around. She looked – frustrated. And scared. The scar looked different, somehow, on that expression.

She glanced around the street again and straightened up.

“It’s nothing,” she said brusquely, turning back around to the water. “Forget it.”

He sighed.

“Come to my apartment,” he said.

“ _No._ ”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s nothing to do with you,” she hissed.

Which was what it always came down to. He wasn’t from Saints Row, so he wasn’t involved.

She looked back at him. Gave him a lingering up-and-down look. Then sighed and looked back out over the water.

He leaned against the backrest of the bench.

“Have you got somewhere to stay?” he asked. “Somewhere safe?”

“I’ve been staying with my cousin,” she said, shrugging uncomfortably.

He felt the breeze off the water in his hair.

“Good.”

~ ~ ~

The Barrio changed hands, _again_. It was considerably quicker than it had been the first time. But then came the gunfights. Ultor’s security department was getting calls night and day about them – because they were _continuing_ night and day. If Dane thought he knew what a shootout was from the suburbs, he had no idea. ‘Siege’ might be a better term.

The clerks said even when the fights were nowhere near the store, they could hear gunfire, all day, until they were cashing up at night. People ran into the store just to get out of the way of the fighting – Dane figured it wasn’t an issue as long as they actually bought something. Then some days would be completely quiet because an entire street leading to the Barrio shops was a no-go area. The front lines moved back, and forth. And back. And forth.

His colleagues blamed him for pushing to open a store in the Barrio. He pointed out that the store had helped keep them on their feet when the suburbs were being torn up, and now they had to focus on getting the suburbs stores back in top condition again to help out with things in the South. It was Dane’s job, so largely people left him to it, to win or fail under his own steam. Which was largely how he liked it. It was tricky though, because if the Saints lost, the suburbs would probably be changing hands right back again – but for now they were out of the fighting, so besides the stores Downtown and in the Retail district, they were the safest bet. They were just lucky they didn’t have a store at the airport yet – you could only spin so many plates.

Saints Row got attacked again. He got into the habit of leaving the news playing while he worked these days. The reports were vague and alarming – first they just said the whole area had been cordoned off, then there were reports of armed gunmen, and then something about a rocket launcher.

He didn’t call Darcy. She’d asked him not to, so he didn’t.

Later reports claimed the Saints had survived the attack. All the big names at least. – Little, Gat, Bradshaw, some guy named Dex. But plenty of residents hadn’t. Plenty of Carnales too.

She called him after four days. Said she was fine, she’d been working when everything started and spent the night in a garage. She arranged to meet him for lunch in a couple of weeks.

He put the phone down and wondered whether she’d have a funeral, if she did die. Would he go to it? Would he even hear about it?

No, he figured. On both counts.

~ ~ ~

Darcy was quiet as usual, at their next meeting. No obvious injuries. But over the next few months, she changed. All the fear seemed to melt away, and only left anger behind it. Dane couldn’t tell f this was snapping or not feeling it anymore. She dyed her hair back to bright blue, and surprised him by starting to take off the hoodie when they met, and walked around. Her tattoos were on display, and she got a few new ones. A unicorn on her right bicep, rearing up, all muscle and hooves and looking like it wanted to skewer someone with the horn. A golden heart, over her own. He didn’t care about tattoos, but he didn’t wonder, now, if they were supposed to mean something. He noticed that the rose band was actually designed to look like it was pulled tight, the thorns cutting into her skin. It was a particularly striking image with all the taut muscle underneath.

She sized up everyone who passed their table like they were targets, including the waitresses. She probably gave a few of them nightmares. She was restless in a whole new way. Like a cat lashing its tail. Or a rattlesnake, rattling. But she never turned any of that aggression on him. She did give him a few more of those up-and-down looks than before, though.

He had his own problems. On top of everything else happening in the southeast, they’d started having problems getting their stock delivered. A lot of it was flown in from the airport, and had to be delivered to their warehouse, and then delivered back out to the stores – including the one in the Barrio. A lot of their drivers now refused to drive up out of the airport, given what was going on in the streets – or were no longer fit to do so. The rest had started getting hijacked en route.

According to them – the survivors – it wasn’t gang members attacking them, but ordinary citizens, taking advantage of the chaos. Every retailer who had stock delivered through the airport was having the same problem. And the police wouldn’t do anything about it, because they were too busy answering calls about gunfire.

They could have more things ferried in, but that meant hiring more trucks to get their goods to a port, and there were plenty of problems at the Docks too. And it meant matching up a lot of locations that a plane could hit much more easily, and – it was just a logistical nightmare. With all the paperwork and new transport fees, it was still cheaper to get things in through the airport. If they could only get the stock delivered.

Which left him with his only other plan, which was to move the stock in unmarked trucks, driven by the last people willing or desperate enough to do the runs, with some extra – _security_ – to make sure they got there safely. Done off the books, so it couldn’t come back on Ultor.

Which gave him an idea.

“Do you know how I once said you should work security?” he asked, quietly, picking at his salad.

Darcy glanced up at him sharply.

She was obviously having problems, but he knew she was still working. She mentioned deliveries occasionally – and she hadn’t mentioned a genuine job in a while, but was apparently renting apartments, on and off.

“And how much you like driving?” he continued.

He looked up at her. She’d narrowed her eyes.

“I’ve got a suggestion for you,” he said. “I’d like to discuss it, in private.”

She scowled. She knew what that meant. ‘The apartment’. She studied him for a moment. He held her gaze. She finally nodded.

“You’ll need my new address,” he said lowly, looking down at his salad again.

She looked up, probably in surprise. He didn’t look up at her. Maybe if she came over more often, she would know when he moved.

“Call me after you leave and I’ll give it to you,” he said, taking a bite of his meal.

~ ~ ~

She turned up the following Monday, around eight, looking at him suspiciously as he opened the door. She took off her shoes and they went into the main room.

He saw her craning her neck at the ceiling, and smiled as he walked into the kitchenette.

“Drink?” he asked.

He looked up to see her nodding.

“Yeah,” she said, looking at him.

“Scotch?"

“Yeah.”

He poured them and brought them out into the sitting area. They sat down on the couches, and Darcy folded a leg up under herself.

“So,” she said, “what’s your _suggestion?_ ”

He smiled.

“It’s more of a job offer, really,” he said. She narrowed her eyes. “You make deliveries, don’t you?”

She kept her eyes narrowed.

“I’ve been looking for people to make sure our stock gets from the airport to our warehouse in the retail district. We’ve had a lot of trouble on that route. And I was wondering if you’d be interested.”

She sat up a little straighter.

“Up through the Barrio?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

She looked frowned.

“It’s not the gangs that have been the problem – though, they’re not much fun, obviously. Our trucks keep getting hijacked, by the residents.”

She nodded slowly. Looked off to the side.

“They’re probably hungry,” she said.

Dane frowned. He’d never really considered _why_ they did it.

“Well – whatever the reason, I need it to stop. I’m gonna have to go off the books on this one. And I figured – well, it sounds like stuff you do. And I know you. So I thought I’d give you first refusal. Or ask if you knew anyone else who’d be willing to do the job.”

She gave him a challenging look.

“What’s it pay?”

“$400 a run. Plus expenses.”

“You want me to drive?”

“No, I – can you drive a truck?”

She shrugged.

“Mom used to let me have a go on her Peterliner when I was younger,” she said. “I can usually figure my way out around smaller stuff. What model is it?”

“Uh – Mule. I don’t know. Whatever we can scare up.”

She looked dissatisfied with that answer.

“I’ll let you know when we have things in place. Anyway – I was thinking you’d more be there as security.”

She gave him a look.

“‘Security’?” she asked.

“Making sure the trucks get to the warehouse in one piece. No matter _what’s_ in your way.”

She gave him a level stare for a few moments. He held it.

“And I get _expenses?_ ”

“Whatever you need,” he said.

She considered it for a few moments. Then she nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “But only against hijackers – I’m not going up against the gangs for you.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he said. “I know that’s a fight you can’t win. Just – try to go around them. Or past them, if you have to.”

She nodded in assent. Then sat back a little. She studied him for a second.

“Your bosses know about this?”

“They won’t care. They just want the stock to get through. It doesn’t matter how it gets done.”

She smiled. Took a drink of scotch.

“It won’t be me you’ll be dealing with. I’ve got to have clean hands on this one. I’ll pass your details onto the head of the project, and say one of my police contacts gave me them. She’ll give you a call sometime this week.”

She shrugged.

“Am I gonna be the only one gonna on these runs?”

“No, we’ll have a few teams, and you’ll have a driver, obviously. Not too many though – don’t want people noticing anything odd. And if you get caught, I won’t be able to help you. In fact, you’ll probably be arrested for hijacking our trucks yourself.”

She looked at him irritably.

“I won’t get _caught_.”

He smiled at her.

He sat back and drank his own scotch. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments.

“So how’re things on the Row?” he asked.

She grimaced, and gave him a hard look. Then just glared at the coffee table.

“Everyone’s an asshole,” she muttered. She rubbed at her forehead.

“Is that particular to Saints Row?”

She gave him a sarcastic look.

“Right now, _yeah._ ”

“What are the Saints up to?” he asked, sitting forward. “Are they trying to take over the city?”

She looked up at him, and then gave him one of those hollow smiles.

“They’re trying to stop the gangs fighting,” she said, brightly.

He blinked at her.

“What?”

She nodded, losing all but the traces of her smile.

“They’re gonna save the city, by getting rid of _all_ the other gangs.”

“So…what? They’ll be the only game in town? No – no more turf wars.”

She nodded. He sat back. Wow.

“Well that’s a… _creative_ approach to the problem.”

She was back to staring at the coffee table. Like she wanted to scorch a hole through it.

“So they’re starting shit, and now we’re expected to be _grateful_ for it.” She was rubbing at her right arm – where the unicorn tattoo was. “Every motherfucker on the Row’s jumping on the bandwagon. ‘We’re gonna save people, we’re gonna show those gangs!’ It’s fucking horseshit. Never seen so much goddamn purple as when they wiped out the Rollerz. And _those_ assholes – the fucking _wannabes_ – they want to show how much better they are than the rest of us, that they _deserve_ to be in the gang. So they dress up, slap hookers, kick the shit out of anyone who looks at them wrong, and what can you do, what can you do when they’re wearing _purple_ – !”

She cut herself off. Closed her eyes.

He watched while she gathered herself.

“Nobody cares,” she said. “Nobody really gives a fuck. But they’re trying to get the whole Row involved. “Stand up for your neighbourhood!” It’s shit.”

He paused for a moment. Sipped his drink.

“Is your dad okay?” he asked. “Your cousin?”

She tensed a little, looking at him warily. Then relaxed and nodded.

“They’re fine,” she said. “They’re staying out of the way. It was –”

She sighed, closing her eyes again. Then glared at his blinds.

“It was easier with the other gangs. They just wanted the drugs. Or the brothels. Or for you not to step to them. These guys…I don’t know.”

She looked lost, again, staring into space. He suspected he was hearing her real feelings on the matter. Which suggested just how bad things were.

She closed her eyes again, and took a breath. When she opened them, they were stony again.

“So it’s fucked up,” she finished, looking at him.

He nodded.

“You think they’ll win?” he asked.

“The Saints?”

He nodded. She looked away again.

“I don’t know,” she muttered.

It was pretty amazing they’d gotten _this_ far.

“They’ll be after Ben King next, won’t they?”

Her brow twitched, and he supposed it was the closest she ever got to a flinch. She glanced, slightly, around his apartment.

“He won’t let that happen,” she said. But she didn’t sound sure.

~ ~ ~

They showed the southeast on the news sometimes. Not for very long – no-one _really_ cared – but they showed it. The whole place looked like a ghost town. There weren’t many people on the streets, and anyone who was was clearly heading somewhere else _very_ quickly. The gang members were behind windows, broken-down doors, just out of sight. He could see buildings literally crumbling – couldn’t tell if they were stores or houses.

But Ultor’s stock started getting delivered to the warehouse. The trucks were battle-scarred, as often as not, but they got there. So Dane’s superiors were happy. And he could get on with running the actual _stores_ again. Darcy’s settling in was apparently a little bumpy – she went through a few drivers at first, and all she’d tell the project manager about it was that they ‘hired a lot of pussies’. Eventually, though, she found someone who suited her, and they became one of the project’s most reliable teams. She was also apparently a great help in keeping the trucks running without having to bother any outside mechanics. And at their lunches, she talked about staying in the same apartment from one month to the next, so as far as Dane could see it all worked out for everyone.

Things were quiet for a few months, more or less. Then one of the leaders of Los Carnales got murdered – assassinated, apparently, and the police claimed they’d gotten hold of a large chunk of the gang’s drug supply. As far as Dane was aware, drugs were the Carnales’ main business in Stilwater, so he hoped that meant things would be over for them pretty quickly.

It was never that simple though. A strip club got shot up in Carnales territory, and the police suspected the Saints were involved. Dane didn’t know what it meant, but Darcy had a run the following day, and the project manager informed him they may need another driver for her again soon.

Things settled down, happily, and nothing came of it. But a few weeks later Saints Row got attacked. Dane didn’t call, again. Darcy apparently turned up for a run, the same as ever, the following week.

The shootouts gradually started moving further South, from what Dane could piece together from news reports and information he was getting from the police department. Again, Dane hoped it would be coming to a head soon.

Then the Saints blew up a police station. His contacts certainly didn’t see _that_ coming. That feeling of panic came back over the office, over everyone Dane met. They stole a lot of drugs, apparently – all of the stock that had been taken from the Carnales. Another business changing hands. Dane wondered how _that_ was supposed to stop turf wars in the city.

Controlling the supply, he supposed.

Then the airport blew up.

The silent panic reached a crescendo. Not least because a good chunk of people were suddenly ‘trapped’ in Stilwater, without warning. The following few days were a strange, queasy experience.

News reports came out suggesting that a plane had taxied into the terminal. Further news reports suggested the plane had belonged to the final leader of the Carnales, Angelo Lopez. Then they reported that they’d pulled his body out of the rubble. For all intents and purposes, the Carnales were gone in Stilwater.

There were still reports of gunfights on the news, but minor compared to what they’d already seen. It was clear the Saints were just cleaning up. And suddenly things were quiet in the southeast. Quiet in the city. Ultor cleaned up the Barrio store and reopened it. Hired new staff – lots of people were desperate to work.

The airport ran a very limited service – just deliveries of cargo, on its furthest airstrips. Dane strongly suggested Ultor use whatever money they had spare and do a few favours to support its rebuilding, and make sure _their_ cargo was top priority. Which it was – right after the planes flying in from Colombia.

Everything was damage control, damage control, damage control. Do what they could with the stock they could get in. Dane’s mother sent him the contact details of some of the shipping companies she worked with, and that was a _great_ help. They stood by Alderman Hughes as he made speeches about the ‘terrible, destructive greed’ of gangs in the city, and all the lives lost, and they made a few more friends in City Hall.

Ben King was also there for those speeches. In a black suit, with a yellow tie. Dane carefully didn’t stare at him for too long.

Two down. One to go.

 

18.

The only saving grace of the airport situation was that things were quiet, for a while. Maybe the Saints had some shame. Maybe they were taking a break after wiping out the Carnales. Or maybe they were gearing up to go after King.

But there were plenty of downsides. An entire month’s worth of meetings and conferences had to be scrapped, because there was no way to get the delegates in or their own executives out. Even if they were willing to use the city’s ferry services, the whole routes were packed to bursting. Leaving the city, anyway – but they could hardly bring delegates in without giving them a way to leave.

They rearranged the most important meetings into conference calls, and tried to arrange private transport by boat. Besides that, they had staff members who were out of town when the explosion happened, and they had to arrange cover for them until they could make it back into the city. Happily, the people who were still in the city really did want to work. Or to distract themselves. Either way, it worked out.

Ultor should build a helipad on the roof of the office, Dane thought, when they had the funds again. It was an expense – plus the running of a helicopter – but contingency plans were apparently very valuable in Stilwater. Maybe they could do a deal with the airport.

The off the books ‘deliveries’ stopped. There was barely any stock coming in, and now things were calmer in the South of the city it wasn’t worth the risk of exposure. Darcy took the news gracefully, as though the money meant nothing to her. She was quiet for a few of their lunches though.

Dane told his superiors what he could about what was going on in the city, leaving his specific sources out of it. They didn’t want to hear it – didn’t really believe it would come to that. And maybe they were right – the Saints had had a good run, but Ben King had friends in the police department _and_ City Hall, so maybe they wouldn’t last long against him. But hadn’t they thought that when they first rose up in Saints Row? So Dane told them anyway. He suggested they hire extra security for the stores Downtown and in the Retail district, and for the offices, and do whatever they could to get the suburbs and South island stores back on their feet, quickly. They might be carrying Ultor through what came next.

The Vice Kings didn’t go for a pre-emptive strike, which Dane felt was to their credit. They certainly held themselves a little more classily than the Saints. Or maybe it was inaction on Ben King’s part – maybe it _was_ time for a change in management. Whatever the reason, it gave Ultor plenty of time to prepare.

The first warning sign of things heating up again, as usual, came from Darcy. She came to one of their lunches edgy than usual, clenching and unclenching her fists.

“What’s wrong?” Dane asked, lowly, over his menu.

She met his eyes, looking furious. But shook her head, looking away again.

A few weeks later, Ben King’s record studio blew up, killing Aisha. Dane could see the smoke from his window when he got home that night.

The city took Aisha’s death hard, for some reason. She wasn’t exactly a pillar of the community but – she’d meant something to Stilwater. The girl from the slums gone good. Proof that you could get off of the streets, sometimes. The level of public mourning was intense. Kingdom Come records announced they were putting out a memorial boxset – Dane was privately impressed.

Some people were upset for different reasons. To them, Aisha’s death meant even thugs from the Row weren’t safe. So how could they be? Other people said she’d probably been a mole for the Vice Kings, and the Saints had blown up the building to get to her, not the other way around. But whatever way they thought of it, everyone knew what was coming. Again.

It didn’t take long. There was fighting in the Red Light district – it didn’t mean much to most people, except those who suddenly had nothing to do on a Saturday night, but Dane knew it was where the borders began. Not just the borders – a huge lynchpin of the Vice Kings’ operations.

Darcy was furious at their next lunch. Blindingly, chokingly furious. She was friends with a lot of hookers, he knew.

There was a full-on shootout in a brothel, eventually. Then another. Then another. Then another. All in the same brothel. It was a desirable location, apparently. He wasn’t sure how many customers they’d have after that, though. As a business proposition it probably wasn’t even worth the ammunition. But there was more to it than money, of course.

Then there was some fight in the Projects. That didn’t even get as much airplay at the Red Light district – not enough sleaze – but apparently someone high up in the Saints got killed. Things went quiet again, for a little while.

Ben King didn’t hit back at the Saints, and he could’ve, especially with his contacts. He seemed more concerned with rebuilding his studio, and networking at City Hall. Dane didn’t know whether to be impressed with the man or exasperated. But he couldn’t exactly blame the man if he wanted to be a genuine businessman, not just a criminal in a fancy suit.

But it meant that the Saints survived. He started noticing more and more purple on the streets when he drove to work, or walked around with Darcy. He also noticed she walked a little closer to him than before.

Dane tried to impress on his superiors that the violence _would_ be coming back to the North island, that the attack on Kingdom Come records wasn’t just a one-off. He tried to convince them the Saints were already here. They were in a better position than they had been a few months ago – Wardill was almost running at full capacity again, they had plenty of stock coming in, and their support in its rebuilding effort meant there was a unit in a prime location just waiting for them when it opened fully again, in what was now one of the most secure areas in the city. And thanks to Dane’s tireless work, their peripheral stores were stable again, and turning a healthy profit.

They had to take advantage of that. His bosses were still dubious, but a few police reports convinced them. They switched some security around from the suburban and Southeast stores to the central ones – happily, they had a lot of veterans working for them now.

Just in time. Later that week, there was an attack at a set of condos, not far from where Dane lived. Or worked. It was over almost as soon as it had begun, but a lot of Ultor’s people didn’t come into work the following day. And not just clerks, _his_ colleagues, people he was forced to consider his peers. It was goddamn unprofessional. But on the other hand, his bosses were giving him that look he loved – that ‘you talented son of a bitch’ look. That ‘we can’t ignore you any longer’ look.

He heard gunshots as he was driving home that night. Not long after he got in, he got a call. From Darcy.

“Hey,” she said. “Let me up.”

He frowned.

“Up – where?”

She couldn’t be…

“Into your _apartment,_ ” she said impatiently.

“Darcy – you can’t just come around whenever you feel like it – ”

“I need to talk to you,” she said. “Let me up!”

He took a deep breath. Centred himself.

“I’ll call the doorman,” he said, an attempt at pacification, and hung up the phone.

He had been trying to get her up her for months, he supposed. And maybe she needed his help. Maybe she was in trouble.

He told the doorman to buzz her up, and waited for the knock. He only had to wait a few minutes. He opened the door to her looking _very_ angry. She walked in without saying anything, and kicked off her shoes. He realised at some point she’d switched from trainers to combat boots.

She stalked down into the main room.

“Can you shoot?” she asked, as he followed her in.

He blinked at her.

“What?”

“Can you _shoot?_ ” she replied, like he was slow.

“I – what? Darcy…”

“Don’t fuck around, Dane! Can you shoot?”

He stared at her. She was standing, arms spread slightly, like she wanted a fight. And she was apparently angry at _him_.

He folded his arms.

“Yeah,” he said. “I took a few lessons with Ultor when I first joined up.”

She scowled at him. Then she reached behind her, to her waistband – _no_ – and pulled out a _goddamned_ gun.

She held it out to him, grip first.

“Show me,” she said.

He slapped it away.

“What the fuck are you doing, Darcy?!” he hissed. He stared at her. Her eyes were hard, impenetrable.

“What are you gonna do if someone attacks you, Dane?” she demanded. “What are you gonna do if someone comes up here? _Tell me!_ ”

“No-one’s coming _up_ here –”

“You don’t know! _No-one_ knows!”

He clenched his jaw, and pointed at the gun still in her hand.

“Is that thing even licensed? You brought it up to my _goddamn_ apartment – !”

“You think this place is safe? You think I’m the only one who can find it?!”

He put his hands over his face. She was breathing hard. She wasn’t being rational right now. He knew she wasn’t.

“Darcy,” he said, calmly, raising his head and looking her in the eyes. “This isn’t Saints Row.”

She just stared at him for a second. Then screwed up her face in a sneer.

“If this was Saints Row, you’d be _dead,_ ” she said. She readjusted her stance, the gun swinging in her hand. For a moment her eyes looked bright. Almost wet. “You wanna die? _Fine!_ Don’t ask me to come to your _fucking funeral!_ ”

She stormed out past him, not touching him. He heard the front door slam.

He put his head down and closed his eyes.

_Jesus._

He looked up, round at the door she’d left through. Then he laughed, quietly. Then he headed down to his office to do some paperwork.

 

19.

He got a promotion. Due to his uncanny understanding of where trouble was coming from next. It was a lot of trust, and he was planning to do plenty with it.

He hadn’t mentioned where a lot of his ‘uncanny understanding’ came from, and he wasn’t sure that’d be much of a source in the future. But he had his other contacts. He’d manage.

He got a new office, and a driver rather than a company car. That certainly made his drive to and from the office a lot more productive.

He occasionally got weird chills as he came in and out of work, though. His driver, Matthew, didn’t seem to notice anything. So he put it down to adrenaline from the new promotion, and the current situation.

About a week after his promotion, there a major incident in the city. Two maniacs shot up the Retail district. They killed a couple of shop clerks, blew up an art installation, and bulldozed Alderman Hughes’ statue. Which would cost everyone a pretty penny.

It knocked the business district for a loop. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen here. Even more confusing, the maniacs in question were Vice Kings, which didn’t make any goddamn sense, because this was _their_ turf. So now no-one knew what was going on. Maybe they were sick of the gang wars. Or sick of Ben King doing nothing and leaving his people to hang. Or maybe he’d done something to upset them personally. Either way, the Police Chief Monroe finally had to go on the news and promise to do something about the out-of-control Vice Kings.

That’d make things chilly between him and Ben King.

Later reports of the news revealed that the rampage had actually started in Saints Row. Which – which made more sense. The two Kings had apparently just started firing on civilians. Then led the police a merry dance into their own territory, and gone to town. Maybe they were high. Who knew?

He didn’t call.

No Ultor stores were hit. The staff were shaken, but more angry – the resilience of the privileged. Dane ordered them to close the store as a sign of respect – they wouldn’t have much passing trade in the next few days anyway, or much luck with traffic as the clean-up crews worked, and it would look good to the public.

Which left him just trying to figure out what would happen next. Were King’s people snapping? Or going rogue? Or had he ordered this, in a sudden, wild change of heart? He didn’t seem very sudden _or_ wild to Dane, but if he had, the situation had backfired on him. It had probably worked out better for the Saints, unless they really did care about the people in their neighbourhood. A lot of the residents that were left were probably more ready to sign up with the Saints though. For revenge.

Chief Monroe was as good as his word, and the following days included a number of high profile Vice King arrests. Not the _highest_ profile one, of course. Maybe this was King’s plan all along – to get out of his own gang by getting the rest of them killed or arrested.

Dane figured he’d probably never be able to ask Darcy again. If she was even alive. The way she’d left seemed – pretty final, if he wasn’t going to do what she wanted. And he wasn’t. And neither was he going to call and try to smooth things over, and imply that sort of behaviour was in any way okay. He got Sharks tickets sent to his office – he had a standing order on them now. He put them in his desk drawer, and cancelled it.

He caught one of his co-workers crying in the bathroom. He dried his hands and ignored her. They had work to do.

~ ~ ~

A few weeks later, things went a little more properly to hell. Kingdom Come records studio got blown up _again_ – you’d think they’d be sick of doing that. And then, Ben King went missing.

Went _missing._ No-one knew where he was, or where he might be. Dane’s police contacts seemed genuinely at a loss, rather than tight-lipped. There was some word about a gunfight at a museum – a museum now overrun with people decked out in purple – but after that, nothing.

The Vice Kings were still on the streets, though. And they were more violent than ever. Gunfights just opened up, in the business district, in the high street. In broad daylight. Wherever the Kings and Saints met, apparently. Either they were all going rogue, or whoever was in charge of things now had finally taken the Kings off the leash.

Everyone panicked. Quietly and hysterically. And not just because streets that had always been quiet before had suddenly lit up – because everyone knew who Ben King was, everyone knew _what_ he was, no matter how close he got with City Hall. They knew he was running the Vice Kings, and they probably, deep down, thought he was the one who was gonna stop the Saints, and get things back to normal.

And now he was gone. And the Kings and Saints were going at each other. And no-one knew what was going to happen.

Dane scrambled to keep things under control. Extra security, more security for the stock in transit, back-up cover for the Retail stores, in case the staff there couldn’t handle it anymore. He hired a couple more PTSD counsellors. Wardill airport reopened, and he talked about what a good thing it was, what a great thing for the city, how things could start running as normal again.

They hadn’t finished the helipad on the roof.

They started getting reports about a number of stores in Nob Hill burning to the ground, the staff seemingly executed. Dane couldn’t understand it at all, until he realised it was along the borders of Saints and Kings territory, where a yellow neighbourhood was about to changes hands, and then he realised – the Kings were burning their assets. Gutting them, before the Saints could get hold of them.

He wanted to laugh. In the privacy of his office, he _did_ laugh.

Business was brutal.

He did what he could. Organised extra security for their own stores. Anything less than a private army wasn’t going to help. One of the stores fell anyway. Rebuilding it would be – costly.

He wished he could talk to Darcy about it. She was a great sounding board. She just listened, and didn’t care.

She probably wouldn’t have let him, though. It was gang business now.

He infrequently hired escorts, just to blow off some steam. The women he saw now seemed – frightened. He thought about Madam Wu’s and wondered if anyone was looking out for them.

The police were cracking down on the Vice Kings more and more every day, and practically ignoring the Saints, who were pushing them back. Whoever was in charge of the Vice Kings now was _not_ Ben King. It would probably be over soon. Right?

 

20.

He started getting those chills more and more, when he left work or his building. Sometimes when he was coming home and got out of his car, he’d swear he saw the shadows across the street _move_.

He was genuinely concerned at first. Until it occurred to him what it _might_ be.

He called Darcy one evening after work, in the main room, a glass of scotch in his other hand.

She picked up.

“I told you not to call me.” She sounded tired, but not particularly angry.

He smiled.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

A short breath on the other end of the line.

“Watching a Sharks game,” she said. “I’m here with all my friends. There’s Elvis, and Mayor Winslow…Richard Hughes had to cancel when he heard Winslow was coming…”

He smiled again, resting his head against the phone.

“Come up,” he said.

A pause.

“Where?” she asked.

“To the apartment.”

Another pause.

“I know you’re down there, Darcy. You can watch the door better from up here. And it’s warmer.”

Another pause. Then he heard a muttered curse, and the line cut off.

He buzzed the doorman.

She looked annoyed when he opened the door to her. And – not exactly sheepish, but like she might possibly be able to imagine what that emotion would feel like.

He gestured her to come in. She kicked off her boots and wandered down the hall to the main room.

When he followed her in she was stood stock still, looking around like she was assessing the place, even though she’d been here before.

“Drink?” he asked. She turned and nodded. Then walked over and flopped down on a couch.

He handed her the drink, and sat on the other couch.

“So how’ve you been?” he asked, pleasantly.

She shot him a sarcastic look.

“Fantastic,” she said. “How’ve _you_ been?”

As if she didn’t know.

“I got a promotion,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

She rolled her eyes, looking at the wall.

“No congratulations?”

“You usually do,” she said.

She looked back at him.

“How’s _work?_ ”

He considered the answer.

“People are scared,” he finally said. She gave him a look that suggested those people were a lot smarter than he was, and then went back to looking at the wall.

“What happened on Saints Row?” he asked. She looked at him sharply. “When the Vice Kings attacked.”

Her face twisted up, fingers tightening on the glass, white-knuckled.

“It was Gat,” she said, and took a hit of scotch.

He blinked at her for a second.

“What – _Johnny_ Gat?”

She nodded.

“ _Why?_ ”

Except he knew – he knew why. To make the Vice Kings look bad. He’d almost thought at the time.

Jesus.

“So people would think the Vice Kings did it,” she answered. “Worked.”

“And they just opened fire on Saints Row?”

Her fingers tightened a little more on the glass. Any more and it’d fracture. She nodded.

“Anyone you know?” he asked, watching her.

“I know a lot of people,” she said, and threw back the rest of her scotch.

“Your cousin? Dad?”

She twitched, still not meeting his eyes.

“My cousin’s dead,” she said.

“What, in the attack?”

“No,” she said. “When the Carnales attacked a few months ago. He got hit by a car.”

Dane stared at her.

“You never said.”

She shrugged.

“People die.”

Things were quiet for a second.

“What about your dad?”

She gave him that warning look she always did whenever he brought up her dad. He didn’t know why she didn’t want to talk about him – she seemed perfectly affectionate when she did.

“He’s fine,” she muttered.

There was an awkward pause.

“When the Saints win,” Dane said, “will things calm down again?”

Her eyes slid over to his. She just held them for a moment.

“Probably,” she said. She tapped her fingers on her glass. “Until the next asshole decides they want to run things instead.”

The silence stretched out for a few minutes this time.

“Where are you staying right now?” Dane asked.

She shrugged.

“I’ve got a car.”

“What does that mean?”

“That if push comes to shove, I can sleep in my car.”

Jesus. It was winter – it’d been below freezing some nights this week.

“Can you afford to run the engine all night?”

She gave him a hard look.

“I’m _fine._ ”

He sighed.

“Are things quiet on Saints Row, at least? Now?”

Another of those hard, wary looks.

“Yeah,” she said. “The _actual_ Vice Kings haven’t come after us yet.”

Her hand twisted on the glass again.

“How did you know it was Gat?”

“I know how he holds a gun.”

He watched her for a moment. She was staring off into space, brow knitted. Lost in thought. Or memories.

He looked around his high class, expensively furnished, pristine apartment. And then back at her.

“You can stay here,” he said. “If you have nowhere else.”

She went tense and still, because this was a big deal, but also because he’d been right, you _could_ watch the door better from up here, and she didn’t want to leave. He knew she wouldn’t. Which meant she’d probably stay, which meant this was essentially just _his_ decision, and Christ he was fucking himself. Seeing her every now and then was one thing. Letting her stay was another.

But the fact was, he liked Darcy. He liked having her around. He _wanted_ to have her around.

“Alright,” she said, finally. Her shoulders slumped, like she was somehow defeated. Maybe she’d lost a fight with herself. She started openly looking around the apartment. Where she’d be staying.

He found he’d been holding his breath.

“D’you want another drink?” he asked, gesturing her empty glass. She looked down at like she’d forgotten it was there, and nodded, holding it out.

He went back into the kitchenette. He was spending – a _lot_ of time in his life with a young psychopath. But then, if she wasn’t in here, she’d only be across the street anyway.

Sirens wailed faintly outside his window, which they shouldn’t have done because he’d paid for noise-cancelling glass. It suddenly occurred to him that Darcy had essentially grown up in a warzone, and now that it had calmed down – barring the odd attack from its own ranks – she wanted to be up here, on the front lines, with him.

She was still looking around the apartment. She didn’t seem bothered by the sirens at all.

He came back over and handed her the drink, sitting back down.

“Do you know what happened to Ben King?” he asked. It was one of the things he was genuinely curious about.

Darcy went tense again for a moment, and then shrugged uncomfortably. She had a drink.

“I think he’s on the Row,” she said.

Dane did a small double-take.

“What, _Saints_ Row?”

She nodded.

“Some people said they saw a beat-up car speeding around the night he disappeared, that stopped outside the Church. They said a guy got out, looking just like him. Went inside.”

“Wait, what church?”

“The Saints’ church.”

“They have a _church?_ What are they, a cult?”

“No,” she said, smiling slightly. “They work out of an old church. Abandoned, you know. Cuz they’re the _‘Saints’_ , or whatever.”

Dane thought that over.

“That’s ridiculous,” he concluded. She nodded. “And wait, people just know about it? Everyone knows about it?”

“Well, not everyone. People on the Row do.”

“And Ben King?”

“Well – the gangs do, yeah.”

“So why don’t people just attack the Church?”

“They _do_. What do you think they’re always trying to blow up?”

Silence, while he pondered that for a moment.

“Do the police know about it?” They were good friends with King, of course. Or had been.

She shrugged, having another drink.

“Probably.”

“So why don’t they arrest them?”

She smiled at him.

“The police don’t care, Dane. They don’t care about anything if it’s not on the news.”

They were quiet again.

He thought for a moment.

“Do you know who’s in charge of the Vice Kings now?”

The smile dropped off her face again. She stared down into her scotch, grimacing.

“No,” she said. “But they’re clearly some sort of asshole.” She threw back another mouthful.

Silence again.

“The spare room’s made up,” he said. It always was, in case he had unexpected stopovers. She nodded her thanks.

 

21.

He tried to be quiet the next morning. But she still ended up hanging out in the hallway, glaring at him as he went for his early morning swim.

“I’m just going down to the pool,” he said. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”

She frowned, and looked like she wanted to come with him. But she didn’t say anything, holding herself rigid in the doorway. Then she turned and went into the main room.

He came back, showered, and put on his suit. When he came out into the kitchenette she was sat at the counter, glaring at him. Like a housecat that didn’t want him to leave for work. She didn’t want him to go for a different reason, of course.

He got out his usual breakfast of muesli and grapefruit juice, ignoring the perplexed frown Darcy was giving it. He sat down to eat. He could feel her glaring at him, eyeing his suit.

“You can’t follow me to work, Darcy,” he said.

She scowled down at the marble countertop.

“I know you’re worried,” he said. “But panicking’s the worst thing we could do right now.”

She looked him square in the eyes.

“ _Dying’s_ the worst thing you could do.”

“I’m going to be fine, Darcy. It’s a short drive, and it’s not that dangerous between here and there – you know that. We’ve been having more trouble at the stores than the offices. Don’t follow me. Please.”

She continued to glare down at the countertop. But she nodded.

Dane sighed a little in relief.

“If you want to leave, use the side entrance. I’ve spoken to the doorman, he’ll let you in and out. Please don’t hang around in the lobby or talk to any of my neighbours.”

She was frowning at his muesli again.

“What’s to eat?”

Well – damn. Nothing she’d enjoy, probably.

He thought for a moment.

“There’s a red box in the desk of my study, third drawer down. The key’s in the aspirin bottle in my medicine cabinet. It’s just petty cash, about a hundred dollars. You can go and buy whatever you want, or get takeaway, whatever.”

She nodded shortly, not meeting his eyes. He looked at her, sitting there in his pristine apartment.

He sighed.

~ ~ ~

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t on his mind all day, but he just got on with his work, even so. He didn’t get any calls from the owner of the building or see anything on the news, so he figured things were okay.

On his drive home, he saw someone get knifed in an alleyway. He decided not to mention it to Darcy.

On reflection, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised to come home and find his apartment stinking of weed.

He walked into the main room to see Darcy sat on the couch, in a bathrobe, feet propped up on the table, smoking a blunt right there and then.

“Are you capable,” he asked, “of coming to my apartment _without_ something incredibly illegal?”

She took a long drag on the cigarette.

“You get a lot of raids on this place, Danny boy?” she asked, blowing out the smoke.

He sighed, and headed down to his room to get changed.

He put on some casual clothes he didn’t wear very often, and put his suit aside to be dry-cleaned, just in case.

He came back into the main room. The smoke made his eyes water. He tried not to cough. He poured himself a scotch, although he figured he wouldn’t need as much of it tonight.

The big TV was on. The news was playing, on silent. Only stuff they’d seen before.

He walked back to the couch and sat down. Her feet were still up on the coffee table, and got his first look at the tattoos on her legs. They were pretty nice, actually. Vivid. Detailed.

“Why are you in a bathrobe?” he asked. It was a guest one, at least.

She shrugged.

“Figured I’d wash my clothes, while I’m here,” she said. “Don’t always have chance at a washing machine.” Her eyes slid over to his. “You don’t mind, do you?”

He shook his head. Thought for a minute. He wasn’t sure where his washing machine actually _was_.

She went back to watching the news.

“Your housekeeper’s nice,” she said, off-hand.

He’d forgotten about her. Wondered if she’d gotten a shock when she saw Darcy there today.

“You didn’t scare her off, did you?”

“Nah. It was nice to have the company.”

He wondered what Darcy had told her.

She took another drag on the cigarette. Dane watched her, probably looking unimpressed. She caught him, smiled, and when she was done, she held it out to him. Grinning at him.

She obviously didn’t expect him to take it. She was just teasing him, again.

He held her gaze for a second. Then he reached out and took it from her fingers, a little carefully. Her grin widened.

It’s not like he didn’t know people who did it in college. Most of the people in his hall, in fact, although he’d always turned his nose up. But people paid thousands of dollars a year for this stuff. There must be _something_ good about it.

Darcy was still grinning, watching him. He put it to his lips like a cigar, and drew in a breath, tried to hold it like she did. Then started coughing.

“ _Jesus,_ ” he said, passing it back to her. “People actually _enjoy_ that stuff?”

She was chuckling, taking the blunt back.

“It takes a little getting used to,” she said. “This is primo stuff – might have been a little strong for you.”

He sat back on the couch, just about over the coughing. He wanted to have a drink of scotch, but that would probably just make things worse.

“Did you order it in?”

She gave him a mock-offended look.

“No!” she said. “Like I’m gonna bring some _drug dealer_ up here.”

She went back to watching the news. Her eyes slightly narrowed. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea for her to have had something relaxing.

They sat in silence for a little while, watching. He suddenly realised he was hungry, and genuinely wondered if he had the munchies for a split second, before he realised he’d skipped dinner at the office while he was working late.

He got up to look for something in the fridge.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

He looked up. She was nodding, watching him. He went back to the fridge. There was some halibut from the weekend, still.

He heard her get up.

“Gonna go see if the clothes are dry,” she said.

He switched on the grill.

The oil was sizzling, the smell of cooking fish filling the air and chasing away the _other_ smell, when Darcy came back in and he discovered she had no problems wandering around other people’s houses half-naked.

“ _Jesus_ , Darcy!” He almost turned to face the wall – settled for staring up at the ceiling. She was just wearing her bra and jeans.

“Calm down, Dane,” she said. “Just pretend it’s a bikini. My shirt’s still wet.”

He huffed, and looked down. She was indeed still there, in just her bra. She didn’t seem at all perturbed by the situation.

“Can’t wear the robe over it?”

“Over _jeans?_ No. It won’t be long. Another fifteen minutes.”

He continued to stare at her. If this was going to turn into a come-on, after all this time, he was going to be annoyed.

It didn’t turn into a come-on. She looked no more romantic than he felt. She turned to grab a glass from the cupboard.

He glared at her back as she crossed to the tap.

She really _did_ have a lot of tattoos.

The one of the black woman with a katana slung over her shoulder was probably the most striking, but another one caught his eye. Over by the seam of her right arm, just over the band of the bra, were a little set of faces. By the iconography, he’d say they were Catholic saints – one of them seemed to be being crucified. They were done up in all sorts of colours, but underneath was another line of faces, in black and white, almost photorealistic.

“Are you religious?” he asked. Surprising himself. He wasn’t usually that blunt. Maybe it was the weed.

She stiffened.

“What?” she said.

“The tattoo,” he said. “Are they saints?”

She turned quickly, so he couldn’t see it anymore. She stared at him, her eyes hard, but red-rimmed.

The tattoos under her collarbone, that he could never quite see for the straps of her vests, turned out to be a medal saying ‘daddy’ on one side, and a set of wheels with ‘mom’ in the rims on the other.

She stared at him for a long moment, looking a little uncertain. She seemed to be studying him.

“I didn’t know you were religious,” he offered. “That’s all.”

She stared at him for another moment – and then relaxed. Sort of.

“I’m not,” she said, finally. Watching him. “My dad used to take me sometimes. I got that a long time ago – I thought it was appropriate.”

He studied her.

“For Saints Row?”

She nodded.

“Who are they?”

She looked at him again, assessing.

“There’s St Margaret of Antioch,” she said. Challengingly. “For pregnant women. St Dismas, for thieves. St Callistus I – he’s for cemeteries.” She held his eyes hard. “St Andrew Corsini is for riots. And St Adjutor is for people like you – swimmers.”

He gave her a sarcastic smile. She smiled, a little, back.

“What about the people underneath?”

The smile dropped off her face. Silence.

Dane turned back to his grill. It didn’t need adjusting, but he turned some of the knobs anyway.

“What about the woman?” he said, as though nothing was wrong. “She an ex?”

“What woman?” She sounded a little off.

“The one with the sword.”

“Oh,” she said. “That’s Samurai Jodie. Didn’t you watch Samurai Jodie when you were a kid?”

She sounded a little forced, but also genuinely disbelieving. He turned back around to her.

“Samurai Jodie?” he said. “No. I guess it didn’t make it out to California.”

“It was the best kids show ever,” she said. “She’s the reason I wanted to learn the katana.”

“You can use a _katana?_ Did your dad teach you that too?”

“No – it was a guy on my block. I stopped him from getting robbed one time. He gave me lessons. We used to have tea and stuff.”

“A guy? Was he any good?”

“Yeah. His name was Rokuro, he ran a Brass Knuckles. He was great – said I was good too. He said I was ‘single-minded’.”

Dane wondered what that was a euphemism for. He wondered if she was actually any good, or just scary enough that the guy didn’t want to upset her.

“He was Japanese?”

“Yeah. He used to tell me about Japan sometimes. Nice guy, considering.”

“Considering…?”

“Considering most of the people on the Row.”

Huh. He’d thought she knew a weird amount about Japan when he told her about his time in Tokyo.

His fish was done. She went to check on her clothes again. When she came back, she was wearing a t-shirt, happily.

He sat down at the counter. She sat next to him and stared deep into his eyes.

“You high yet?” she asked, smirking.

He frowned at her.

“No,” he said. Stopped to check if he felt normal. “No,” he repeated, more confidently.

She was grinning at him.

“Aw. You don’t always your first time. It’s a shame. It might have made you happy.”

“You think I’m unhappy?”

“No, but – it makes some people happy.”

He looked at her, chewing his fish.

“What about you?”

She shrugged. Rested her head in her hands.

“It’s better than not being high, sometimes.”

She was grinning at him again.

“I heard corporate types like you ran on cheap speed all day.”

“It’s _expensive_ speed, thank you,” he said. “And no, we don’t. Not all of us.”

“Just not you?”

He smiled at her.

“My body’s a temple,” he said.

She gave him a ridiculous smile. Then put her head in her hands.

“And there were no problems at work?” she asked, through them.

He shook his head.

“Nope.”

She looked up and for a second there was a hint of the old danger he was used to.

“And if there was, you’d tell me, right?”

He looked her straight in the eyes.

“Yes,” he lied.

~ ~ ~

He woke up the next day none the worse for wear, but with no particular desire to try weed ever again. He showered before going down to swim, in case he saw another tenant there, and afterwards he scrubbed his hair twice, just in case.

Darcy continued to lurk in his hallway, frowning at him as he got ready for work. She didn’t try to stop him, though.

Work was – odd. He seemed to have to spend so much of his time hand-holding his colleagues and providing a good example to them – but on the other hand, he was having a _lot_ of meetings with people on the verge of panic, who made stupid mistakes he could take advantage of. On the whole, it was just exhausting.

When he got home the second night, the smell that assaulted him was chemical, like bleach.

“Darcy?” he called out, throwing his keys into the bowl.

“Bathroom!” she called back, from that direction.

He wandered down that way to see – well. A scene he’d never even dreamed of. The bathroom door was open, and inside was Darcy, bending over the sink, a dark brown towel around her shoulders. She seemed to be in her bra again, but at least she was covered up. She was surrounded by boxes and bottles, and there were splotches of blue _everywhere_. It looked like a muppet had died. Her hair was lying wet and flat to her head, and she was combing her fingers through it.

She looked up when he appeared in the doorway. She had tape along her hairline.

“Hey,” she said casually, looking back into the mirror.

He stared at her.

He would ask what she was doing – but it was pretty clear.

He turned and walked back down the hall to his bedroom. The thing was, he hadn’t actually given her specific instructions _not_ to do things like ‘get very stoned on my couch’ or ‘turn my bathroom blue’. So what did he expect? She hadn’t shot anything yet. That was a plus.

He went back into the main room, got himself a scotch, and sat down on the couch. The news was playing on the TV again.

She came in after about twenty minutes, still wearing the towel and – a fucking _showercap_.

It took every inch of his self-control not to crack a smile.

“You bring that stuff with you too?” he asked. “Hair dye and weed, ‘Darcy’s essentials’?”

She gave him a sarcastic look, under the _showercap_.

“No,” she said. “Patrice brought it for me.”

He stared at her.

“Who’s _Patrice?_ ”

She stared back.

“Your housekeeper.”

He thought for a second. Oh.

Darcy was laughing at him.

“You’re such an _asshole,_ ” she said.

She was grinning at him, that thing just sitting on her head like an awkward balloon.

He chuckled himself and went back to the TV.

She sat down on the other couch, carefully, so the towel wouldn’t touch anything. There was a half-empty glass of scotch on the table. She picked it up.

“Is it all cleaned up in there?” he asked.

“ _Yes,_ ” she said. “I’m an old pro.”

He looked at her curiously.

“What’s your real hair colour?” he asked.

She looked at him, over her glass.

“Blue,” she said.

He smiled.

There was nothing on the news, except the usual scuffles. Darcy’s jaw went a little tight anyway. Dane switched over to the stock reports.

“Why do you have animal heads your study?” she asked him, suddenly.

He looked at her, distracted from the figures, then blinked. He realised what she meant.

“They’re hunting trophies,” he said, turning back to the screen.

“Yeah – I get that. Why do _you_ have them?”

He looked at her. Searched her face. And smiled slightly.

“You just don’t seem like a ‘body parts’ kinda guy.”

“Well – they’re mine.”

She just stared at him for a moment. Then smiled, like he might be joking.

“What, _you_ shot them?”

“Yeah.”

She studied his face again. Then sat up a little.

“ _Seriously?_ ”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing at her amazement.

“You shot a lion?”

“Yeah.”

“And an _elephant?_ ”

“Yeah,” he said. “My dad used to take me on safaris when I was younger. He was big into hunting.”

“In Africa?”

“Yeah. Didn’t your dad take you hunting?”

“Nah,” she said. “We never got out of Stilwater. There’s not much hunting around here – ‘cept shooting rats.”

Charming.

She still looked genuinely delighted.

“So you _can_ shoot?”

“A hunting rifle,” he said. “You think that’s gonna do me any good on the streets of Stilwater?”

“You should get – you should get a McManus,” she told him, getting lost in thought. “It’s only good from long-range, though.”

She looked back at him, and grinned again.

“Is there anything else I don’t know about you?”

He played with the remote for a second. He assumed he meant weapons.

“I’m a pretty good fencer,” he said. Her brow knitted immediately in confusion. “It’s sword-fighting – you probably wouldn’t be impressed, compared to a katana. But I was the college champion.”

She grinned at him like he was the best thing in the world. She looked back at the screen, shaking her head slightly.

He turned his attention back to the TV too. There was a competitor’s stocks coming up soon – with Ultor having ‘Stilwater’ troubles, it’d be nice if they took a hit.

“My dad used to make me fight the dogs,” she said, off-handedly.

Dane stopped, and then looked around at her. He was pretty sure she’d said _those_ words, in that order. He frowned at her. She looked back, completely unperturbed.

“What?” he said.

“My dad,” she repeated. “He used to make me fight the dogs. I guess that’s sorta like hunting.”

“He…used to make you fight the _dogs?_ ”

She nodded.

“For what?” he asked.

“For dinner,” she said. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He stared at her. No further answers seemed to be forthcoming.

She frowned at him a little as he continued to stare. He looked back at the screen.

Well.

Maybe that explained a few things.

He thought, not for the first time, that her dad might be someone he’d like to meet one day.

Eventually, he got back into the stock market figures. There was a stretch of companies he didn’t care about coming up, so he switched back to the news.

“ – of Vice Kings arrests,” Jane Valderamma was saying, “in the Downtown area, according to police reports – ”

Dane sat up and Darcy sat forward.

“Our top headline again: a number of high-profile members of the Vice Kings were arrested tonight in an extensive police operation across the neighbourhood. Police Chief Monroe gave this statement:…”

They cut to a replay of Chief Monroe making an announcement. There was nothing in it that Jane Valderamma hadn’t already said. Dane looked at Darcy. Her eyes were huge and she was breathing slightly faster. Even with the showercap, she looked intense.

The Chief didn’t say they’d apprehended the head of the gang, or even give any further clue to who that might be. And maybe it was spin, to make the P.D. sound good. But it did sound like a lot of Vice Kings had been caught, or killed.

“What does this mean?” he asked Darcy.

She was furrowing her brow, staring at the TV.

“I don’t know,” she said. She shook her head.

“The Saints’ll probably try to go for the Vice Kings now, right?”

“I don’t _know,_ ” she repeated. She looked like she was desperately trying to work it out herself. She glanced over to the window.

“Their days have to be numbered, by now.”

He was aware he was trying to assure himself, as much as anything.

Darcy gave him a hard look.

“Well people on the ropes swing harder, Dane,” she snapped.

The rest of the night was uneasy. They kept the news on, but nothing further happened. Darcy was restless, frequently getting up just to pace around the room, straying just a little closer to the blinds than was necessary, as if she could somehow absorb information from the glass, or through it.

After a couple of hours, she got up and tore out of the room suddenly. Dane was confused, until he heard the water running. After a little while she came back, without the showercap, her hair bright and vivid and even. She sat down heavily on the couch without giving him a second look. She refused a drink after her second one, and Dane went to bed leaving her on the couch, staring into space, clenching her fist periodically. He realised he’d never seen her go to bed since she’d been here. He wondered when she slept.

 

22.

She was watching him in the hallway the next morning, as usual, and he wondered _if_ she slept.

She looked genuinely angry with him today, wound up, almost on the points of doing something. Grabbing him. Something. He ignored her, and continued to get ready. She leaned in the doorway, and glowered at him.

When he got back from his swim she was nowhere to be seen. He got showered and dressed. When he came back out of his room, she was in the hallway again. Glaring at him fiercely.

He looked her straight in the eyes.

“Darcy,” he said. “Ultor has nothing to do with the Vice Kings, or Kingdom Come records, or any of that. The Vice Kings and the Saints are gonna be focused on each other – you know that. I’m gonna have a short drive to my office, and then I’m gonna work there, behind a locked gate, surrounded by security guards – ”

“Your security’s _shit,_ ” she cut in.

“– And I’m going to be _fine._ You know that, too.”

She looked around, balling her fists.

“If you would _just_ –”

“It wouldn’t make a difference. I have to go in – the city’s falling apart, and we need to be strong. If we give up, the gangs take everything. They’re not after us, so we have to keep going.”

“It’s _dangerous,_ ” she said. “Today.”

“It’s always dangerous,” he said. “We have to keep working.”

She balled her fists again, and gave him a look that turned helpless, at the end. Then she dropped her hands. Her shoulders slumped.

She followed him into the main room. She watched him eat his breakfast, every bite of it. He thought about how the Westside Rollerz had ended in a fiery explosion on the freeway, and the Carnales had taken half of Wardill with them when they went. He continued with his breakfast. When he left the apartment, she watched him from the hallway and didn’t try to stop him. In the car, he didn’t look around to see if she was following him.

~ ~ ~

The Vice Kings’ days were indeed numbered, and that number was low. It was in the decimals. That afternoon, there were reports of some sort of car chase through the city, after a car that had a man dangling out of the window. He fell, and died – he was later identified as Stefan, the owner of the Impressions chain. That was a shame. He ran a good business, and made a hell of a suit.

Then the news was reporting a siege of some kind at one of the more lavish apartment buildings in town. Ending with someone _else_ falling out of a window. She was revealed to be Tanya Winters, a well-known madam in the city. And believed – _believed_ ¬ – to have been the new leader of the Vice Kings.

Everyone held their breath. Could it be true? Could this be it?

And _then_ the news reported that Julius Little, the leader of the Third Street Saints, had been arrested.

Dane paused in what he was doing. Everyone seemed to pause in what they were doing. Jane Valderamma got extremely excited talking about it, but she clearly didn’t know – what it would mean. For any of them.

The rest of the day passed in a quiet limbo. Dane found it genuinely difficult to focus on work, for once.

He called his apartment. No answer. He called Darcy’s mobile. No answer.

He did everything he needed to at work that day, tried to appear calm, told anyone one he talked to they should sit tight, and see how things played out before they did anything drastic. And then he went home early, for once, around six o’clock, and hurried to his apartment.

He stepped in through the door, and immediately noticed her boots – which he’d just gotten used to – were gone.

“Darcy?” he called out.

No answer.

He looked around the apartment. There was a note scrawled on the kitchen counter – ‘thanks for the bed, I have to go now’, etc.

Huh.

He wondered if she was back on the Row, or downstairs watching his apartment again.

He called her. She didn’t answer. But then, she called him.

“Darcy –” he began.

“Shut the fuck up, Dane,” she interrupted. “I’m only calling because I don’t want you getting any funny ideas that this is over. The Saints still have guys on the streets, and if one of them doesn’t take over, they’re gonna do _something_ about Julius. You just –”

She caught herself.

“You just remember that. Okay?”

She cut off the call.

He looked down at the phone.

Huh.

When he went in his bedroom to change out of his suit, there was a box on his dresser. It took him a few seconds to realise it was _his_ box – from his closet. The one he kept a handgun in.

He did _have_ one, obviously. It was Stilwater.

He opened it – the gun was still there. With its neat little boxes of bullets. It looked like it might have been freshly cleaned.

He closed it again. Pushed it to the corner of the dresser.

He had a look around for anything else she might have messed with. Not that he minded – he could have pretty much anything replaced – but he was curious. The bathroom was spotless, as she’d promised, which was almost impressive. Some of his old albums from the eighties looked thumbed through. And there were a hell of a lot of takeout cartons in the waste – enough to make him wince. But she’d been a lot tidier with them he’d expected, he realised.

He got his cash box out of his desk that night, to see how much he needed to replace. But he counted it and nothing was missing. Not a single cent.

He stared at it for a minute.

“Motherfucker,” he swore softly, and locked the box, putting it away again.

 

23.

It was quiet for a few weeks, at least.

People didn’t know what to do with themselves. His co-workers kept their heads down at the office, as if doing or saying the wrong thing might bring everything crashing down again. The news reporters were in a state of constant vigilance. But nothing happened. There were no attacks on police stations, trying to spring Little, or on anyone else in protest. And the violence on the streets went down to almost zero. They returned to a fairly regular level of crime in Stilwater, store hold-ups and carjackings.

People he knew started nervously, hopefully babbling that maybe it was over, maybe the city was going to be gang-free for the first time in memory. Eventually Dane had to start joining in, because when he held his tongue, the uncertainty seemed to push people closer to the edge than ever. But there were still a lot of people in purple on the streets, and Ultor was still paying a hell of a lot of protection money.

Dane wasn’t sure what to do. It ought to have been the perfect time to get back on their feet – the Saints had wiped everyone else out, so there was no chance of pushbacks that would put their stores in the line of fire again. But for once he didn’t know what was coming next, and there was no point building them back up just to hand them over to the Saints. Or watch them get blown up. He ordered a basic refurbishment, to begin with.

He thought. And thought. He thought about Ben King wanting to get out of the game and go legit. Ignoring his own people and his own territory for a chance at that. Were there people in the Saints like that? The right job offer – it didn’t have to be anything major. The Saints were leaderless, as close to being done as they’d ever been. If they could lure a few more people away, it might destabilise them completely and the whole thing might be over sooner than later.

And there were some impressive people in the Saints, he had to admit that. Their tactics were ruthless, but they were effective – as evidenced by the fact they were now in charge of the whole city. Their tactician – Dex, was his name? – clearly knew what he was doing.

But everyone in the city knew who Dex was. And they’d know if he started working with them. The city was battered, and the Saints were poison. In the end, it would probably do Ultor more harm than good to be associated with any of them right now. And he wasn’t interested in taking down the Saints if it meant the company went down with them.

So he just had to wait. Get on with his work. Keep an eye on property values in the city – they’d gone through the _floor_. If it really was over, there were some golden opportunities waiting to be exploited.

He didn’t hear anything from Darcy. She didn’t call, and when _he_ called it went straight to voicemail. Except for once, when he’d plain old been cut off. He didn’t get those chills anymore – she’d either gotten better at it, or decided the Row needed her more.

Alderman Hughes held an impromptu function, supposedly to celebrate the end of the last great gang in Stilwater. The man was surprisingly confident, considering he was somehow still behind in the polls to Mayor Winslow. People must really believe in his ‘rehabilitation’ plans. He didn’t know why, Hughes’ redevelopment plans were a lot more promising, frankly. The man even had his eyes on Saints Row, a district that was long due for an overhaul. And they might actually work now it was the most peaceful it had ever been. Dane would have to have a word with the other senior executives about getting on board with those plans – _if_ Alderman Hughes could get himself elected.

~ ~ ~

His chances improved markedly when Mayor Winslow died the following week. No-one really knew what happened – Winslow’s campaign bus got hit by a train some way off the planned route of his tour. The city mourned, publicly. Dane called Alderman Hughes.

They didn’t have a lot of money to throw around at the moment, but they were picking up steam again. The city was quiet and people wanted a distraction and a lot of their competitors were no longer in business, one way or the other. Ultor had made it through, and their stores were turning a profit again – almost feverishly. So Dane could promise Alderman Hughes _some_ support, and hopefully more in the future. He planned to make a personal point of it.

He was thinking about Saints Row one night when Matthew was driving him home. They were stopped at an intersection on a relatively quiet street, and Dane was staring out at the lights and thinking about what _he’d_ do with the plans if it were up to him. When suddenly he heard two loud bangs.

He stopped. Was it an explosion? He couldn’t _see_ anything out of his window. And then Matthew slumped over in the front seat. He felt the car rock as the door opened, and then a dark shape was leaning in, shoving something over, and getting into the driver’s seat.

It looked around. It was a man. He locked eyes with Dane.

Dane felt like he should say something. He knew it would be a good idea to say something. But for a moment, he couldn’t think of anything.

The man sneered, and raised a gun over the back of the seat.

And then the car rocked again and the man turned back around, and then jerked backwards. He heard a thump, and cursing, then another loud bang – a gunshot. He saw the man jerk back again. There was another dark shape in the car, wrestling around. And then both the shapes jerked out of it.

Dane heard a long ‘ooof’ of breath. And then the car rocked again, and he heard an odd soft thump and ringing metal. Then what might have been a whine. Then the car rocked again, and he heard the thump again. Then it rocked again, and he heard a cracking noise. Then again, and he heard a crunching noise. Again and again and again, and after every time he heard a crunching noise. And then wet noises.

It went on for a very long time.

Eventually, the car stilled. Dane could hear harsh breathing, and didn’t know if it was his or someone else’s. He heard a soft thump, and then rustling as a dark shape climbed into the car again and looked at him over the back seat.

“Are you okay?” Darcy said, out of breath.

Her hair was trapped under a beanie. He could just about see the scar on her face in the streetlights.

“Dane!” she snapped. “Are you _okay?_ ”

For a minute the words still wouldn’t come. Then he said:

“Yes. Yes.”

She looked him up and down. Then her face hardened.

“We have to get out of here,” she said, turning back around. She slammed the door shut and it crunched again, and then they took off down the road.

Dane’s brain was trying to catch up with what had happened.

“What – _what_ – ?”

Darcy glanced at him in the rear view mirror, but kept driving.

Focus. He had to focus. He closed his eyes and breathed for a few seconds.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Somewhere quiet,” she replied.

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Somewhere we can lie low.”

Lie low. As if they’d done something wrong.

Had she killed that guy?

Yes. She probably had.

He tried to think. Tried to think. She was driving remarkably steadily, compared to how he’d imagined.

“Matthew,” he said, eyes on the back of the passenger seat.

He saw her glance down, briefly.

“He’s dead,” she said.

Matthew was dead.

What was he gonna do about it?

She turned into a parking garage. She went up a few levels – there was no-one around. She parked the car, calmly, next to a few others.

She turned off the engine, and he suddenly realised it had been running the whole time.

The silence was deafening. Darcy turned around in her seat again.

“You okay?” she asked, calmer this time. Her eyes were steady, searching his face.

Was he? His heart was pounding and his breathing was probably a little too fast. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down.

“Who – who was that guy?” he asked, eyes still closed.

“Nobody,” she replied, tonelessly. “Carjacker.”

“ _Carjacker?_ ” He opened his eyes again. “He just wanted the _car?_ ”

She shrugged.

“I thought you said stuff like this didn’t happen in the business district?”

It was a little accusatory. She narrowed her eyes.

“It doesn’t, usually,” she said. “A lot of Vice Kings have been trying to scare up some extra money to get out of town.”

He breathed again.

Looked back at the back of the passenger seat.

“And Matthew’s dead?”

She looked down again, then sighed slightly and bent over. He heard rustling. She straightened back up.

“Yes,” she said.

He realised he’d been holding his breath.

Jesus.

Jesus. What was he going to do? He – he had to – 

“Take me to Ultor,” he said.

She looked at him quizzically. Then frowned.

“Take me to Ultor,” he repeated. “They have a security department – they’ll clean this up.”

Her look turned a little worried, and Dane stared at her uncomprehendingly, until he figured it out.

“You won’t be involved, Darcy. I’ll tell them to let you go. They’ll just try to keep it quiet – I don’t want it getting in the papers. You’re not gonna tell anyone, are you?”

She shook her head. Looked back at the wheel.

“You know where the offices are, don’t you?”

She nodded – then looked back at him. She studied his face.

“Are you sure you don’t just want me to take you to a hotel?” she asked. “Or home?”

The desire to go to a hotel, lock himself in a room, have a drink, have a shower, was so overwhelming that for a moment he just had to sit still and push it down.

“No,” he said. He looked at her. “With Matthew in the passenger seat?”

“We can throw him in the river.”

They could.

“No,” he said, decisively. “Ultor will clean this up – they’ll have to know about it anyway. Take me to Ultor head office. Please.”

She studied him for another moment. Then nodded. She turned back around, and turned the engine on again.

Dane called ahead, and told the security team to expect them.

“Where’s the gun?” he asked, hand over the phone.

“He dropped it.”

“In the street?”

She nodded. He informed the team.

When he put the phone down, she looked at him a couple of times in the rear view mirror.

“What are you gonna say about me?” she asked.

He stopped – he honestly hadn’t thought about that.

“I’ll say – you were a Good Samaritan,” he said.

She snorted. After a minute, he laughed at that too.

It didn’t take long to get to the office. He directed Darcy round to the back entrance, and someone was waiting to wave them through. They drove in, and suddenly they were in the big, lit-up garage, and a crowd of people swarmed the car as it pulled up.

Someone opened his door and gently pulled him out, asking him questions.

“Are you alright, Mr Vogel? Mr Vogel, are you hurt?”

He shook his head and looked over at Darcy. She was also out of the car, surrounded by security officers who looked like they both wanted to manhandle her and stay away from her. She was giving them a dangerous look. They fired a few questions at her. Dane walked around the car, around the people inspecting the car, and over to them.

“She’s fine,” he told them. “She’s just a passerby. She jumped in to help me.”

The security executive looked dubious. He looked Darcy up and down, and for the first time Dane saw what she was wearing. She was all in black, with a beanie on her head and gloves. Like a _goddamned_ burglar.

But she wore dark clothes most of the time.

“Are you _sure_ , Mr Vogel?” the security exec asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”

He caught sight of the inside of the car, and the mess in the driver’s seat, _down_ the driver’s seat. He realised Darcy had been sitting in it. They were pulling Matthew out of the other side. He looked down at Darcy’s jeans, and saw flecks of white and pink on them.

A wave of nausea rose up in him, and he pushed it down.

“Can we get her a change of clothes?” he asked, thickly. “And a shower?”

Everyone looked unimpressed with that, including Darcy.

“It’s _evidence,_ ” he said.

They looked a little less unconvinced. The security executive told one of the officers to show her to the showers. She went, begrudgingly. That mess still on her jeans. At the door she stopped, and gave him a final look. Up and down. And then left.

He was swarmed again. People asking if she was involved, if she was blackmailing him, if he was being leaned on.

No, he said. No, no, no, no, no.

He told them to let her go when she’d signed the non-disclosure form. The security executive didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded.

They took Dane to the company doctor, who insisted on checking him out. She diagnosed him with a mild case of shock – nothing he couldn’t get over. When they were convinced he wasn’t physically hurt or about to collapse from stress, someone finally got him a goddamn drink.

He got a ride home with a small security team. No surprises on _that_ trip. He had orders to take the next day off work, which he wasn’t happy about, but the instructions came direct from the CEO. Due to all the responsibilities Dane had. They’d promised him he’d have another car and a new driver by the time he came back.

He stood in his apartment, finally alone, and had another drink. The place felt weirdly empty. He wondered, suddenly, where Darcy was. In Saints Row? Downstairs? Maybe one of the security officers had shot her in the head and thrown her in the river, just to make _absolutely_ sure there wasn’t a security leak.

He closed his eyes. No, that wasn’t very likely.

For just a moment, he wished she was in the apartment. Dyeing her hair in the bathroom, or kicking around the utility room.

It was ridiculous. He pushed the feeling down.

 

24.

Mayor Winslow’s funeral was blown up. Happily, no-one from Ultor was there since they were supporting Hughes. But a number of high-ranking police officials were killed, including Chief Monroe.

Everyone took that as a cue to panic again. Dane wasn’t sure why. It was pretty clear to him that the police weren’t what kept you safe in this city. Still, there was a pretty clear link between Julius getting arrested and an attack on the head of the police. The Saints were obviously finally making their move.

Alderman Hughes made a statement about the ‘atrocity’. He looked a little less together than usual.

It took Dane forever to get home. The funeral procession had been attacked while it passed through the Downtown area – where everything seemed to happen these days – and the traffic was snarled up back through the Business District, even as late as _he_ got home. And they had to stop, frequently, to let more blue and red lights pass through.

When he _got_ home, he changed and got himself a drink. Then got out his phone.

She picked up this time.

“Yeah?” she said, evenly.

“You downstairs?”

A pause on the other end of the line.

“Come up.”

He didn’t even wait for a response this time. He called his doorman. Five minutes later, she was at his front door. She looked him up and down.

He let her in and she took off her shoes. They walked down into the main room.

“Drink?” he asked, heading to the kitchenette. He looked up only as a formality, to see her nodding. Glancing around his apartment again.

He handed it to her, and they sat down on the couches.

“You alright?” she asked, studying his face.

He thought about it. Yes, he was. It had been a shock – but he’d gotten over it.

“Yeah,” he said.

She searched his eyes for a second. Then nodded, seeming satisfied.

“You have a new driver yet?”

“Yes.”

Her mouth twisted, a little.

“You should get K’aunté,” she said.

He frowned.

“Who?”

“K’aunté. My driver. K’aunté Bryson.”

He frowned a little deeper.

“From your airport runs?”

She nodded.

“He knew how to handle himself. When things were getting hot.”

Dane thought about it. None of the airport drivers were chauffeurs – they were generally the people with the _least_ qualifications. But – well, clearly there were other qualifications worth considering in Stilwater. He filed it away to think about later.

They sipped their drinks.

“The first time’s the worst,” she said. “Especially when you’re older.”

He was a little offended by that for a moment. Until he figured out what she meant.

He studied _her_. No new cuts or bruises that he could see. Just the old scar.

She killed someone for him a few days ago.

“How are things on the Row?” he asked.

Her eyes darkened a little. She shrugged.

“They _were_ quiet,” she said. “Today, it’s been…”

She trailed off, and shrugged again.

“Why don’t you get out?”

She looked at him.

“I’m serious, Darcy,” he said. “You’re always telling me I’m not careful enough, acting like I’m gonna get myself killed, and _you_ won’t get out of that place. You got shot, what, walking down the street? And that was before the Saints took over. You could have had a degree. You could get a job. _I_ could get you a job. You could find somewhere to live, someplace decent. Someplace long-term. Why won’t you get out?”

“And go where?” she asked. “Somewhere nice and gang-free, like Brighton?”

She smiled down at the floor.

“There’s no getting _out._ ”

And then she looked up, with that furious, empty look she sometimes got.

“And it’s _my_ neighbourhood, too,” she said.

Her eyes flicked to him for a minute, still heated, and looked him up and down. He knew people, and her, well enough to read that look.

‘ _You’re mine too._ ’

Then her face cleared, turned doubtful, and she looked away.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the way she was attached to him had more than a little possessiveness about it. He also knew it probably had more to do with the people on her back than him. But it had been useful to him on more than one occasion. And it was flattering, really. That this girl, who didn’t give a damn about anything, gave at least half of one about him.

Not a girl. She’d been a teenager when they met. It’d been seven years. She was what, twenty six now? She was a grown-up.

“Why did you come?”

He startled out of his thoughts, and looked at her. He thought over the question. She looked as open as he’d ever seen her. Honest.

“To Stilwater?”

She nodded, looking as though she couldn’t understand why anyone would _come_ to Stilwater.

He glanced over to the window. The blinds were closed, but they could still hear the sirens outside, faintly.

“I heard there was a lot of opportunity here,” he said. He furrowed his brow. “There still is.”

He looked back at her. She was staring at him with an unreadable expression. Then she looked away.

They drank again for a few minutes.

“So do you think this is it?” he asked. “Have they declared war on the city?”

She grimaced around her mouthful of scotch, and swallowed.

“Maybe,” she said, leaning back slightly. “There’s not much of it left.”

There were some things. Some things that hadn’t died yet.

They sat and drank as the sirens wailed off into the night.

 

25.

Alderman Hughes’ yacht blew up, right before a fundraiser. That caused a little more consternation at Ultor, and with Dane. They were gonna have to keep a close eye on who the next mayoral candidate would be – if there were any left.

But then – Troy Bradshaw came on the news, claiming to be an undercover police officer. He made an official statement, surrounded by other officers, saying that all his time with the Saints – everything he did – was part of a sting operation. He also said that Johnny Gat had been on Alderman Hughes’ yacht when it blew up, and that Dexter Jackson had left the city, and Julius Little had been released on bail and had also disappeared.

He said there was no-one left leading the Saints. He said there were no Third Street Saints anymore.

Dane called his people at the police station. Troy’s story checked out. They sounded pretty pissed themselves – clearly not everyone at the department had been in the loop.

People immediately came out against Bradshaw. They said he’d gone too far. They said that wasn’t policing. They asked how he could have possibly allowed Chief Monroe to be assassinated, if he was an officer. They accused him of making some sort of deal. He didn’t argue with any of it. Mostly, he just looked tired.

They combed the bay where Hughes’ yacht blew up. No trace of Johnny Gat was ever found. But people assumed if he was still alive, he’d had gone after Troy, or shot something else up at least.

So that was it. The city was suddenly – free.

He called Darcy. She didn’t answer, but called him back later. She sounded – stunned. Like she didn’t quite know where she was.

He asked her if she wanted to meet up for lunch.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yes.”

At work, Dane leapt right into action. He ordered the immediate refurbishment and restocking of all their stores, he scheduled meetings with new suppliers, he talked constantly about how this was a new start for the city, how they had to start rebuilding before any new criminals took over, how they could finally start making this the city they wanted to live in.

A couple of weeks passed and there were no new sightings of Johnny Gat, or Julius Little. And slowly, people started to believe it.

Dane went to speak to Hughes’ widow, Monica, personally. He gave her his condolences, and asked what kind of tribute would be truly fitting to her husband. They discussed redevelopment plans at great length.

And it was easy, it was _so easy_ , because people wanted to believe it. They wanted to believe it was over. They wanted to believe they could have lives that weren’t about being afraid of the gangs. They wanted to believe it so much, they were ready to grab onto the first person offering it to them.

Things started running again. Everything started running again. Dane was there for all of it, talking people through and smoothing things over.

Ultor made him CEO, finally. For his ability to keep a cool head in a crisis, and his visionary plans for the future.

And he _did_ have plans, and they were _right there_ , if people could see what Ultor could _be_ if someone really took the reigns, what _Stilwater_ could be. Property values were at rock bottom all over the city, and everyone was ready for a change, and all of it was so close he could almost _taste it_.

He organised PR events, talking about the restoration of the city, cutting ribbons for new Ultor stores. He did interviews and TV segments. He knew he looked good, and sounded good. And people were ready for anything that sounded good.

He paid a lot of attention to the police department, publicly gave them Ultor’s support as they rebuilt. He didn’t ever want to be in a position again where he wasn’t getting information because someone else was paying more. He made friends at City Hall, as they scrambled to put themselves in order again. He stayed especially close to Mrs Hughes, who was considering running for mayor – a very appealing candidate. He networked across the city.

As he was picking out art for his new office, he came across a photograph of a volcano spilling what seemed to be blue lava. It was a real phenomenon, at Kawah Ijen in Indonesia. Something to do with sulphur. He bought it for his office wall.

He didn’t know what to do about Darcy. They never did schedule that lunch. And now…

When he was a pen-pusher at Ultor, that was one thing. Even when he was an executive. But now, he was CEO. People were going to start paying attention to what he did. And keeping things out of the papers would mean involving the security department, which meant it might get back to the Board of Directors.

He sighed. He liked Darcy. And it’s not like he didn’t like having his life saved. But he wasn’t sure knowing her was a luxury he could afford anymore.

He hoped she’d let go. The city was safe now, after all. And he had a whole team of security looking out for him.

So much for that.

He was sat in his office, happily alone, doing paperwork, when his new PA Jaime came on over the intercom.

“Mr Vogel!” she said, sounding panicked. “Mr _Vogel!_ ”

He heard shouting from outside, and then his door burst open, and Darcy marched in. Like thunder.

“ _Mr Vogel!_ ” Jaime called, tremulously, from the door.

Darcy looked furious.

“What the fuck are you doing, Dane?” she hissed. She stopped in the middle of the floor, balling her fists. “What the fuck are you _doing?_ ”

He looked at the open door. Jaime was trembling, clutching the handle, and behind her on the floor was a security guard, clutching his wrist.

He looked at Darcy. She was staring at him. She looked incensed – livid.

“It’s alright, Jaime,” he said, looking her in the eyes, confidently. “It’s fine. Just give us a minute, please.”

Jaime stared at him, mouth open. Then clicked her jaw shut. She looked at Darcy’s back, and then at him. He kept his gaze steady. She nodded, jerkily, and closed the door, keeping her eyes on Darcy’s back until it clicked shut.

Darcy was still just staring at him. Furious.

This was not an ideal situation, but it was manageable.

“Darcy,” he said. Calmly. “You can’t just turn up at my place of _work_ –”

“What the fuck are you _doing_ , Dane?” she repeated, looking – rattled.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m seeing your face everywhere. I’m hearing about you _everywhere_. You’re talking about leading the city into the future. You’re buying up property. You’re buying up _Saints Row_ , is that right?”

He’d wondered if she might have a problem with that.

“Darcy, it’s –”

“Do you have any idea what that sounds like?”

She stared at him. He didn’t.

“Don’t you know by now that people who take over territory in Stilwater end up fucking _dead?_ ”

He realised, suddenly, what that other emotion in her eyes was, besides anger. It was fear.

“What,” he said, “you think I’m trying to start my own _gang?_ ”

“What do you think people are gonna think? You’re doing exactly what they were doing, Dane!”

She balled her hands into fists. Her arms shook with the exertion.

“Do you know what people are saying about you? People who don’t even _know_ you? Do you know what I’ve _heard_ them saying?”

“Darcy,” he said. Gently. “I don’t care what some penniless hoodlums think of me. I don’t care if they resent me. That’s par for the course.”

She just stood there and shook and gave him one of those helpless looks again.

She couldn’t let go. She couldn’t understand what it was like to live in a world where you didn’t have to watch your back all the time.

Or maybe she just couldn’t let go of _him_.

But no. She looked genuinely upset. Worried.

Her face twisted up into a snarl.

“Fine,” she said. “ _Fine_. You want to paint a big target on your chest – fine! But I’m staying right here.” She pointed down at the office floor. “I’m staying right goddamned here to make sure you don’t _die_ of it, you fucking _idiot!_ ”

There was silence for a second. Dane laughed, because it was so surreal. Darcy’s eyes hardened into something determined.

“What?” he said. “You’re gonna be my _bodyguard?_ ”

She looked furious.

“If that’s what it takes! Yeah! I’ll do that. You – you don’t see what’s _coming_ Dane – you never have. You’re such a _goddamn_ …”

He left her ranting, because a thought was occurring to him.

 _Was_ it surreal?

I mean – it was _Darcy_. But…he was going to have a security detail anyway. He’d probably have a personal executive. And, you couldn’t say she wasn’t _skilled_. The guard currently outside his door could probably attest to that.

“Are you serious?” he asked, suddenly.

“Oh shut the fuck up Dane, you know as well as I do –”

“About being my bodyguard? Because, you know, there’s going to be a position for that, in the near future.”

She stopped and stared at him.

“Through the security department,” he said. “You’d have to sign on with Ultor.”

Her eyes narrowed, like she thought he was trying to trick her. But she kept listening.

He pushed down the excitement rising in his chest.

“I mean, it’d be your job, and you’d have to be professional about it,” he said, seriously. “No more –”

He waved at the office door.

“– Temper tantrums.”

She narrowed her eyes. But kept listening.

“You’d have to wear a suit to work.”

He looked over her hoodie and jeans, and pictured her in a suit. He looked up at her hair. She tensed.

They could afford _one_ quirk.

“And you couldn’t just attack whoever you wanted. Or get in the way of my work.”

She shifted and folded her arms.

“Unless I thought you were gonna fucking _die?_ ” she asked, glaring at him.

He smiled at her.

“Yes,” he said. “Except for that.”

She paused. She seemed to be considering it. She fixed her eyes on him again, narrowing them.

“And you’d have to fucking _listen_ to me, and do what I told you if I thought you were gonna fucking die?”

Well – yes. He supposed. But – it’s not like she wasn’t usually right about those situations. And he didn’t particularly _want_ to die.

“Yes,” he said.

She kept her eyes narrowed. Studied his face. Then seemed to think about it for a second. Then, looked back at him.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay! Sign me up.”

She unfolded her arms, and held them at her sides like she was ready for a fight.

He smiled. Widely.

“I’ll call someone to take you down to human resources,” he said, reaching for the intercom.

Oh God.

He could _pay_ her.

He could give her a salary. He could give her _danger money_. He could give her a whole apartment, if he could wrangle a living allowance, or claim he needed her close by. 

“Jaime,” he said, into the speaker. “Could you come in here for a minute?”

Jaime stuttered out a reply. Dane smiled at Darcy. She still looked a little unsure, but determined.

“This is great,” he said. “ _Great._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Now with bonus tracklist: [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/kingsparrow/running-deep)


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